Marking Time
by Night Owl Too
Summary: Spuffy Kinkathon: Set Post-Chosen, Post-NFA. Buffy receives an unexpected summons to England, where she learns she's not the only one with nine lives. But a mysterious crisis threatens. How far is she willing to go to save someone she loves? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Spuffy Kinkathon Assignment**  
**Title: **Marking Time  
**Author:** Night Owl  
**Written for:** cindermom  
**The Kink:** Hurt/comfort  
**Three other requests: **Spike reluctantly biting Buffy (see how I worked another kink in there?), include Dawn and/or Xander in the story, could be set anywhere from Season 5 to Post-NFA.  
**Up to two restrictions:** No character bashing.  
**Rating:** R  
**Feedback:** (Absolutely. Thrilled to have it.)  
**Spoilers:** To play it safe, let's just say all of BtVS and AtS.  
**Disclaimer: **The characters don't belong to me, but I love Joss Whedon & Co. for sharing them with us.  
**Distribution:** Don't have a website or an LJ. If you're interested in archiving, please ask. I'd be more than flattered. 

**A/N:** This is my entry for the Spuffy Kinkathon, brought to you by the awesome BuffyX. I didn't quite finish it in time for today's deadline, darn it, but here are the first three chapters, and I should have all parts posted by next weekend at the latest. I hope it pleases, especially you, cindermom. Thank you for the lovely inspiration.

**Marking Time**  
By Night Owl 

A strange keening sound was the first inkling Spike had that something was wrong.

Well, more wrong than finding himself back-to-the-wall and hopelessly outnumbered by a hacking, slashing mass of marauding fiends from hell, all of them screaming for his head. That one could have worked out a bit better.

Bruised, bloodied, and fighting for all he was worth, he'd been too caught up in the chaos of battle to keep track of the others. Even if he'd had that luxury, he couldn't see past the crush of demons hemming him in. It wasn't until a high-pitched whine rose above the clamor of blood-curdling screams and iron axes clashing against steel blades that he let himself wonder if Angel had finally slain his dragon.

No sooner had the thought formed than Spike found himself airborne and sucked halfway down the length of the building, arms and legs flailing against an invisible current that had latched on and wouldn't let go. Sailing through the air, he bounced off a tumbling Garnak demon, altering his trajectory just enough to send him careening toward a large metal pipe. It was obligingly bolted to the same brick wall that had guarded his back almost since the battle had begun. A desperate grab and his backward momentum halted with a jerk so hard it dislocated his shoulder.

Spike cursed and bit back a yell, pushing through the pain to tighten his grip on the pipe. It wouldn't have been easy, even without the relentless pull of the invisible force. He'd suffered some serious wounds, at least two of which would have done in a mortal man. Punctured something vital, he suspected, though for him it had only slowed his responses a bit. But now, waving in the air like a leather flag, he felt his strength leeching away even as he fought to retain his hold.

He realized somewhat belatedly that the air around him now pulsated with an unearthly blue glow, growing in intensity with each passing second. He strained to locate the source but abruptly lost interest when an iron helmet smashed into his forehead then spun off toward the far end of the alleyway where he and the others had originally made their stand.

Just then, a flash of something familiar caught Spike's eye. His free hand shot out, fastening around a small, booted ankle, and Illyria's headlong flight ended as abruptly as his own had a moment before. His arm was extended full length, the invisible undertow fighting to tear her away. Spike bared his teeth in fury and defiance at the unseen threat. Illyria's face was hidden from him, and he didn't even know if she still lived, but he had her in his grasp and he wasn't letting go.

Too bad he couldn't say the same for the pipe. He knew it was starting to loosen, even though the groan of rusty brackets was impossible to hear over a horrible shrieking noise that steadily grew in intensity. He'd thought the din raised by the demon hordes had been bad enough, but this was something infinitely worse.

His fingers slipped a bit and Spike realized with sudden horror that he was gradually getting weaker. A tingling numbness in his hands and feet crept inward and upward, spreading through his body, enveloping him in an advancing wave of sluggishness. He strained, desperately hanging on to the pipe and even more desperately to Illyria. Had to hold on. Wouldn't let go. Not even to save himself.

More debris flew by, more demons, too, as the gale-force winds howled around them, but still he clung. For one brief moment, Spike let himself believe that he might have the strength to outlast whatever it was. Then a searing pain roiled through him and Illyria slipped away. At the same time, he lost his grip on the pipe, hurtling backward, spinning end over end toward an unknown fate.

Then everything went away.

* * *

The English countryside flew past in a blur of deep greens and mottled browns, but Buffy's brain was too preoccupied to take it all in. As the car hurtled along, she focused instead on the mysterious summons from Giles, wondering for the umpteenth time what had prompted it.

When she'd listened to the message on her answering machine, she hadn't stopped to question it. Even with a scattering of high-profile disagreements and their painful disconnect during those final weeks in Sunnydale, Buffy trusted Giles. He simply meant too much to her for that ever to change. If he wanted her to drop everything and fly to England without an explanation, there had to be a good reason.

Not knowing what the trouble was or how long she'd be needed, she packed a suitcase along with her carry-on bag and left a note for Dawn and Andrew. Forty minutes later, she was on her way to Fiumicino and the first England-bound flight she could catch. True to his word, Giles had arranged everything. With only one flight a day into Bristol, the quickest route turned out to be a 3-hour non-stop to London's Heathrow Airport.

Buffy knew a driver would be waiting for her at the other end, ready to whisk her off to Giles' estate in Westbury as quickly as possible. What she _hadn't_ expected was to see Xander – tan, fit, and still sporting a rakish eye patch – standing in the baggage claim area at Heathrow. When she had spoken to him barely a week before, he'd been fully immersed in running the African branch of the slayer training and special operations program. If something big were brewing, it made sense that Giles would also send for Xander, but how had he made it there ahead of her?

Buffy frowned at the obvious answer.

"How long have you been here?"

Xander's welcoming smile didn't falter, though she caught a flicker of something in his face that left her with an uneasy feeling.

"Well, hey there, Buffy! Great to see you, too! Oh, I'm fine, just fine, thanks for asking. How was your flight?"

Point taken, though he should know she couldn't be sidetracked so easily. Crossing her arms, she gave him the look that never failed to make him squirm. "Long on suspense, short on information. How was yours? Or more to the point, _when_ was yours?"

Behind them, the baggage carousel hummed to life, the first suitcase thudding against the metal surface as it slid off the conveyer belt. Xander's head whipped around.

"Oh, hey, look…the bags are here. That was fast." He smiled nervously. "Better keep a close eye out. Believe it or not, there are unscrupulous people around who like to make off with luggage that doesn't belong to them. And, too bad for us, we're not allowed to stake them. What color is yours?"

"Red. And the question still stands. When did you get here, Xander?"

Smile fading, he visibly deflated. "A couple days ago. But before you ask me anything else…don't. Yes, there are things you need to know, but not here. And not in the car on the way. I promise, you'll find out everything as soon as we get to Giles' place."

She started to protest, but Xander cut her off. "Buffy…just trust me, please?"

She stared at him, seconds ticking by. Then she pointed to the carousel. "There's mine."

Xander smiled.

Buffy's thoughts returned to the present as the car slowed and turned onto a paved drive, passing through some familiar gates. She saw the turnoff to the compound where recently gathered slayers spent their first months in training. The facility was situated less than half a mile from the sprawling manor home that had been in the Giles family for the last century or more. As the car neared the big house, she caught glimpses of it through the trees. When they rounded the final bend, she could see her former Watcher already waiting on the front steps. Two minutes later, she was in his arms.

"Missed you," she said, giving him an extra-tight squeeze.

Giles groaned with mock protest and pulled back just enough to smile down at her. "Missed you, as well, terribly." He released her and turned to Xander, who was lifting her suitcase and carry-on out of the car. "You made excellent time."

Xander nodded. "Neither wind, or snow, or crazy British drivers can keep me from my appointed rounds. Or something like that." His eyes darted to Buffy then back to Giles. "Anything new?"

"Very little, I'm afraid, but this is hardly the place to discuss it. Let's go inside."

During the flight and the subsequent drive to the estate, Buffy had spent much of her time speculating as to why Giles had summoned her to England. A pending apocalypse topped the list, but she'd also considered a slayer-related crisis, and she'd even hoped a bit wistfully for a good, old-fashioned demon scourge.

That it might somehow involve a blue-haired woman clad in a leather bodysuit and a surly attitude? Never once crossed her mind.

Xander deposited Buffy's bags in the entry hall as Giles moved quickly to the foot of the staircase where the strange woman stood. Halting just inside the door, Buffy waited with raised brow as eerie blue eyes assessed her. If the sneer that formed on the demon's face meant anything, she'd just been judged and found wanting.

"Ah, here you are," Giles observed with strained civility. "I had not intended to call you down just yet, actually, but…well, since you are here. This is –"

"I know who she is. She is the one called Buffy. She is as unimpressive as her name." The woman turned to Giles, head tilting. "Are you certain there is not another?" she demanded. "This one does not seem sufficient to inspire the necessary devotion. I do not think it will work."

Buffy crossed her arms. "Giles…who is she, and can I kill her?"

The woman shot her a disdainful look. "That is extremely doubtful."

As Buffy bristled and the demon sneered, Giles' sardonic voice cut through the rising tension. "While I'm certain we're all fascinated to see the outcome of this riveting display of…I'm not really sure what…I'm afraid we haven't the time. Buffy, this is…an associate…of Angel's. She's here because of an unfortunate situation that has developed in Los Angeles."

Buffy straightened. "Is Angel in trouble?"

"Yes," Giles said quietly. "I'm sorry to tell you, he is."

Buffy stared at him, then nodded. "Okay. So she tells us what she knows and _then_ I kill her."

The demon faced her, nostrils flaring. "Enough. I grow weary of this." She eyed Buffy with contempt, as if the mere sight of her left a sour taste in her mouth, and turned to Giles. "She is a child with meaningless taunts and empty posturing. We do nothing but waste time."

"Hey, I'm not the one who started this. What is your problem, anyway?"

The strange blue eyes swung back to her, the alien appearance emphasized by the ferocity in their depths. "You have caused much grief. I _dislike_ grief."

The glowering disapproval obvious on the demon's face impelled Buffy forward a step. The other quickly moved to meet her but halted when Xander stepped between them.

"Okaaay!" Slapping his hands together with fake enthusiasm, he glanced from one to the other and back again. "Since we're all agreed we're pressed for time, how about we opt for the Cliff Notes version? Buffy, this is Illyria. She's a god. Or, _former_ god. Her powers aren't what they used to be. Don't ask." He held up his hand. "She hasn't always looked this way. You remember Fred, that friend of Angel's Willow mentioned? She died and Illyria sort of sublet the place." The hand shot up again. "I repeat, don't ask.

"Anyway, since then she's been hanging out with Angel and his gang. According to her, Angel only _pretended_ to go along with Wolfram & Hart until he and his posse could take out the big guns…namely, some uber-secret society of really bad guys. This pissed off the even _bigger_ guns, who sent an army of demons out to rain on Angel's parade. Big battle, things looking grim, then Illyria kind of…accidentally opened a portal to another dimension. Apparently, she had a little more juice left than she thought."

Xander's voice softened, his smile fading, and somehow Buffy knew she didn't want to hear the rest.

"Buffy … Angel got sucked into that portal. Someone named Gunn, too. And a whole lot of demons. The same thing would have happened to Illyria, but she was yanked out of there just in time by Willow and the coven." Xander looked at Giles. "Did I forget anything?"

"Wesley."

"Oh. Right." Voice grave, he turned back to Buffy. "Wesley didn't make it. I'm…sorry."

The last was directed to Illyria, who stared at him without comment. Buffy looked from Xander to Giles to the impassive woman and squared her shoulders, raising her chin as she drew in a deep breath. "So…how do we get him back? Angel. How do we find him?"

"Buffy…"

"No." Her tone made it clear she would accept no argument on this point. "How do we get him back?" she repeated.

Giles fell silent, then he nodded to Xander. "I'd like to speak with Buffy alone for a moment, if you don't mind. Perhaps you could escort Illyria back to her room and check on that…other matter?"

Xander nodded. "Sure, no problem." He motioned Illyria toward the stairs. "Your godness, if I might have the honor?"

She stood, haughty and apparently stone deaf..

Giles broke the impasse. "There's little more we can do at the moment, Illyria. We won't act without your knowledge, and we'll keep you fully informed of our progress. You have my word."

It seemed to mollify her. Without further comment, she followed Xander up the stairs. As they moved out of sight, Giles ushered Buffy to a small library off the main entry hall and closed the door behind them. He held up his hand. "To answer your question, Willow and the coven are working on identifying and locating the exact dimension in which Angel and his friend are trapped. Illyria, unfortunately, has not been able to provide us with much information in that regard, so it's a rather time-consuming process, as I'm sure you can imagine. Nevertheless, Willow feels certain they'll be able to narrow it down to a manageable number quite soon."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, head bowed as if he felt a headache coming on. "There are dangers to be expected, of course – not knowing what Angel may encounter there…wherever he is. But there is every chance it's a perfectly benign environment, and believe me, Buffy, when I say we have genuine hope of bringing them back safely."

Though it was hard to resist the urge to rush back to London and hop a plane to LA, Buffy nodded. "How did you know? That Angel was in trouble. Did he call?"

Giles hesitated. "I…had heard from him about another matter, but not about this. The coven's eldest seer notified us of the impending battle, but we didn't have enough notice to reach LA in time. Willow, fortunately, happened to be here reporting on a recent mission to the trans-dimensional plane. She was able to join with the coven in time to teleport Illyria. But, as you already know, we were too late to retrieve Angel."

Buffy was silent a moment, digesting the information, but she knew Giles. There was something else. "What aren't you telling me?"

He cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon?" Though his tone betrayed only mild curiosity, his gaze studiously avoided hers. If his glasses hadn't been out of reach on a table several feet away, he would have been furiously polishing them by now.

She'd managed to stay relatively calm up until now, surprising even herself, but now a heavy knot of dread formed in her stomach. "Giles, you didn't have me come all this way just to tell me you don't know what's happened to Angel. So whatever it is, let's get it over with."

She waited. The silence stretched out, marred only by the quiet ticking of an old clock somewhere across the room. When his eyes finally met hers again, his gaze was filled with warmth and concern and more than a little trepidation. But it was the glint of anger she saw that worried her most.

"Angel _is_ part of it…but you're right." Giles nodded slowly. "There is more."

Crossing her arms, she tried for flippant. "Isn't there always?" Even to her own ears it sounded strained and unconvincing.

Dawn was okay, she knew that. Xander was here and Willow was with the coven. Giles had already told her about Angel. It couldn't be the end of the world again because she knew his pending-apocalypse face by heart and this wasn't it. Even Andrew was safe and sound back in Rome and enjoying his new and mystifying status as a chick magnet. So what…or who…else could have him this wound up?

She froze. Faith. Something had happened to Faith.

"Buffy, I don't know how to say this, but…"

_Oh, god._

"It's Spike."

_Wait._ _What?_

"He's…alive."

_No. He isn't._

"Buffy?"

She stood there, unable to believe Giles could do this to her. He knew how much Spike's death had affected her, understood how keenly she'd felt his loss. She had mourned him the same way she had loved him, silently and in secret, but Giles knew. He had seen what the others couldn't or wouldn't. So, why…

"Buffy, I realize what a shock this is, and I only wish there'd been time to better prepare you, but I thought it best you not be told over the phone. I –"

"He's not." Her protest grated like a rusty saw on stone. "You _know_ he's not."

_He can't be. _

"I understand your…reluctance…to believe."

_Because if he were, he'd be here._

"But I assure you it's quite true."

_With me._

"In fact, you can see for yourself."

_And I would know. I would feel it._

"He's just upstairs, actually."

_But…oh, god. What if…?_

"Did you hear me, Buffy?"

The solid warmth of his hand on her shoulder called her back from the place her mind had wandered. She looked up to find him gazing down at her, waiting for some kind of response. Her eyes filled with tears. Only one thing she could think to ask.

"Where?"

* * *

TBC in Part 2 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Giles led her to a part of the house he referred to as the east wing. She hadn't seen much of it in previous visits, spending most of her time at the training compound. As they went, he filled her in on everything they'd learned from Illyria – Spike's restoration via the amulet, his months as a ghost tied to Wolfram & Hart, his sudden return to a corporeal state, and his surprising decision, to Giles at least, to stay and fight the good fight in LA.

He touched briefly on their shock when – instead of delivering Angel, Wesley, and company to the coven's circle – the teleportation spell had produced an angry leather-clad woman and a totally unexpected Spike. It was only then that the vague rumors Giles had heard about another vampire joining forces with Angel were confirmed and explained.

What _hadn't_ been explained was Spike's present condition.

"He's virtually comatose, Buffy. He has been ever since his arrival. I must admit, we're at a loss to explain it. Though his injuries from the battle were severe, they're hardly sufficient to account for his current state. In addition, he's not healing as he should and we haven't been able to ascertain why. His intake of blood has been severely curtailed, of course, since he's unable to feed on his own, but we've been giving him blood intravenously. It seems to have had little effect, I'm afraid. Perhaps enough to keep him from wasting away."

Giles paused. "There _were_ very brief periods in the beginning when he was awake and somewhat lucid. However, things have changed. He still has waking periods, but he's unresponsive and apparently unaware of his surroundings. It's…worrisome." He glanced away then back, sympathy and anger battling in his gaze. "I'm sorry, Buffy. You shouldn't have to go through this. I'll be quite frank with you…I didn't want you to know. I'm aware that it's been difficult for you, that it wasn't easy to get past everything that happened, to start a new life. It isn't fair that you should face losing someone you care about all over again, especially on top of this news about Angel."

A tired sigh escaped him as he shook his head. "Nevertheless, I do realize how wrong it would be to keep this kind of secret from you…a lesson I suspect we've both learned through harsh experience. And we thought, perhaps, if he saw you…if you were somehow able to reach him…"

He never finished the thought. Instead, he came to a halt outside a dark paneled door and turned to face her. Buffy stared at it, the only thing keeping her from seeing Spike. She looked up at Giles.

"Is he dying?" It was the first time she'd spoken during what had seemed an endless trek up the main staircase and down two corridors.

He started to answer, then stopped, gazing wordlessly back at her as he clearly tried to gauge her emotional state. It would be a good trick if he could. Her mind seemed to have shut down, along with said emotions, and she felt herself adrift in a strange sort of mental limbo, hanging somewhere between sweet expectation and cold realization.

As Giles waited, her hand rose and touched the door, trying to detect Spike's presence through the wood. She flashed back to another place, another door, but this time there was no invisible current to electrify her senses. It was just wood. Hard. Cold. Dead.

Panic flared. In the space of two heartbeats she had pushed her way inside, pulling up short in the middle of the room, panting as if she had run there all the way from Rome. She barely noticed Xander rising from a chair next to a large mahogany bed. Instead, her gaze was riveted to the bed's lone occupant, a pale, wan figure lying motionless under an ivory-colored sheet.

His eyes were closed, his face still beneath a wild riot of curls. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm, mimicking a living, breathing human. In another vampire it might have surprised her, considering his unconscious state, but Spike had always been different – embracing food, flirting with sunlight…loving a slayer. Never willing to accept the same boundaries that others did, he'd constantly pushed the envelope.

Never more so than now. Dark bruises and angry red welts painted a cruel picture across his torso, or as much of it as she could see. His arms were in a similar state, and she guessed that his legs would look much the same. Eyes lingering on his face, she took careful inventory of the small scrape on his chin, the sharp cut on one cheek, the ugly gash on his forehead, and a colorful bruise just below his hairline. Except for these relatively minor injuries, his face had been mercifully spared.

As if he'd felt her gaze on him, his eyelids fluttered then slowly opened. For a split second Buffy's heart soared. He knew she was there; her presence had called him back. But her relief died quickly as his ice-blue eyes stared vacantly at the ceiling, lacking even the tiniest spark of awareness.

It hit her like a sucker punch to the gut.

Xander, who'd been unusually silent, spoke up. "Looks like the relief pitcher's here. Why don't I go give Willow a call? Let her know you made it." As he brushed past, he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. Lost in Spike's beautiful, unseeing eyes, Buffy barely noticed his departure.

"How long?" she finally managed, her voice hoarse.

Giles cleared his throat. "Five days."

That got her attention; she felt her face harden. So much for lessons learned.

"The last time he was briefly conscious…two days ago," he added, gazing steadily back as she shot him an accusing glare.

"Could you leave us alone?" she asked, even though it wasn't really a request and she didn't feel particularly civil.

Giles knew it, too, but he didn't call her on it. "Of course, but…it's getting late and you've had a long trip. I know you won't rest, but could I at least persuade you to have something to eat first? I'll sit with Spike until –"

"I'm not hungry." It came out even harsher than she'd intended.

Giles studied her silently. "No, of course not. As I thought. Well…if you should change your mind, I've recently had an intercom system installed that runs throughout the house." He gestured to a panel on the wall. "I'll ask Mrs. Hudson to prepare a tray, just in case."

This time Buffy merely nodded. She could tell he wanted to say more, but she couldn't get into it now, not when a miraculously resurrected Spike was lying in bed not six feet away from her.

To her relief, Giles disappeared into the hallway, returning an instant later with the bags they'd left outside the room. He set them just inside the door, off to one side.

They exchanged a long look that spoke volumes before Buffy nodded slightly. That he knew she would be staying there with Spike and didn't question it went a long way toward easing the tight coil of anger she felt at being kept in the dark for five days. It didn't get him off the hook, and they'd eventually have to work things out, but Hurricane Buffy had just been downgraded to a tropical storm.

Buffy was already heading for the bed before the door had even closed behind Giles. Sinking down next to Spike, she settled against his hip, careful not to jostle him. She didn't know how long she stayed there, silently studying him, but by the time she could tear her eyes away the windows were completely dark, the heavy drapes no longer outlined by even the faintest trace of light.

She huffed a shaky laugh. "Okay…the whole TLC thing? Not exactly my specialty. Even on your worst day, you were better at it than I've ever been. My idea of tender is more like threatening to kick your ass if you don't snap out of it." She frowned. "Except you'd probably enjoy that, which I guess makes it a bad idea as far as motivation goes."

Eyes drawn to his, she searched his face for some sign that he heard her, some tiny hint of recognition. It was pale and composed and painfully beautiful, but so terribly, terribly blank.

Buffy swallowed, fighting against the sudden constriction in her throat. She blinked hard and shook her head. "I should be really mad at you. Come to think of it, I _am_ really mad at you. All this time – " Voice catching on a slight hiccup, she almost growled in frustration as she scrubbed angrily at her eyes then let her hands fall to her lap. She straightened and glared at him accusingly. "You know that kicking-your-ass thing I mentioned? Think you can pretty much count on it, unless you've got a damn good reason for not picking up the phone, at least, to let me know you were alive. Asshole."

Again she searched his face, and again there was nothing. He looked like a statue, like one of those strangely life-like figures in the Palace of Wax that she used to marvel over as a child. An insane notion popped into her head – that maybe this wasn't Spike, that maybe it was just a lifeless figure created to confuse her. To give her hope where there had been none. To lift her up, only to bring her down. To snatch away the absolution that was staring her in the face.

Driven by an irrational need to reassure herself, Buffy reached out to brush his cheek with the back of her hand. Holding her breath, she let her fingers trail lightly across his brow and down the strong bridge of his nose. He felt…like Spike. Exactly like Spike. The truth of it hit hard, filling her eyes with hot tears.

_He's real. He's here._

She trembled all over as her thumb traced reverent butterfly patterns along the generous curve of his mouth. She'd forgotten how soft his lips were, how long and dark his lashes looked, how perfectly smooth the column of his throat was. How could so much fade from her memory in a single year?

All at once, it wasn't enough just to touch his face. She needed more – a connection, something tangible to anchor him to her. Leaning down, she dropped a soft kiss onto the jagged scar that marred his left eyebrow. Then, without stopping to shed either jacket or shoes, she curled up next to him, fitting her body to his, careful of his injuries as she draped an arm across his chest and rubbed her tear-stained cheek against his shoulder.

"I know you're in there, Spike," she whispered, breath stirring the short tendrils of hair behind his ear. "I know you can hear me…feel me. I'm here now, and I'm not leaving. Not this time." Lifting her head, she saw that his eyes were no longer open. Once again, he appeared to be sleeping. Closing her own eyes, she pressed closer, nuzzling his ear lobe and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. "I won't leave you," she vowed again, this time for her own benefit as much as his.

Seconds later, she was asleep.

* * *

It would have been misleading to say she was dreaming. It was more of an unconscious remembering – a half-buried memory dragged to the surface of her slumbering mind. Buffy frowned in her sleep, reluctant to relive it even in her somnolent state.

But there she was, back at the house in Sunnydale, an agitated Dawn tugging at her arm.

"You have to go! He needs you!"

"Dawn, stop it." Buffy gently pried her sister's fingers away and moved toward the kitchen. Dawn, predictably enough, trailed along behind.

"But he's hurt, and he won't let me help him! You have to go, Buffy. Somebody has to take care of him!"

"Spike can take care of himself, Dawn. You should know that by now." Retrieving a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator, she avoided her sister's accusing gaze. "Whatever's wrong with him, I'm sure he'll be fine again in no time. Just leave it alone."

"Oh, right." Dawn's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Just like he would have been fine this morning when the sun came up and turned him into vampire flambé. If I hadn't gone after you, Buffy, I never would have found him in the alley. He'd be ashes now and we never even would have known what happened to him!"

Buffy froze, clutching the glass she'd pulled from the cabinet. "You found him in an alley?"

"Yes! He was all beat up and unconscious. It was right by the police department. I was looking for you, but you weren't there. I would have told you later at the Magic Shop, only Spike made me promise not to say anything. And I was mad at you anyway."

Buffy turned, orange juice and avoidance tactics forgotten. "What did he say happened?"

"He _said_ that a bunch of demons jumped him because of a misunderstanding over a poker game. But he was lying, Buffy, I know he was. He never lies to me, but this time he did. It's got to be something really bad." Dawn clutched her arm again and gazed at her imploringly. "Please, Buffy, I know you don't really like him, but he's my friend. He took care of me when you weren't here. Whatever did that to him – it's really dangerous. He's hurt so bad. What if it comes after him again? He won't be able to protect himself!"

After a long pause, Buffy finally nodded. "I'll go…but you have to stay here." She held up a hand, cutting short her sister's protest. "Stay here, and I won't tell him you broke your promise."

Biting her lip, Dawn hesitated then sighed. "Okay. Just take care of him, please?"

"I'll…do what I can." It was a weak promise at best but enough to reassure Dawn.

Ten minutes later, Buffy stood outside Spike's crypt, wondering for the first time if she should knock instead of barging right in. Not knowing his condition and uncertain of her reception, she opted for the latter. Not surprisingly, she found him in the lower level sprawled face down across his bed. Also not surprisingly, he lay there without a stitch of clothing on, not even a sheet covering him.

Normally, she might have appreciated the sight. Now, her eyes slid away from the ugly bruises covering his back. She hadn't realized…

Unlike the rest of him, Spike's face had been hidden from view. But suddenly he stirred, demon senses awakening to the presence of a slayer in his lair, and his head turned.

Buffy felt sick.

His face was a swollen and mangled mess. It looked so much worse than she'd expected, especially since she knew his preternatural healing had already kicked in. No wonder Dawn had been so upset.

Her mouth went dry. Oh god. Dawn. What would her sister say if she knew who had given him those brutal cuts and bruises?

Buffy swallowed, belatedly realizing she could see a hint of blue through the swollen, narrow slit that passed for an eye. Spike was silent, watching her, waiting.

"I…I came to see how you were."

She was sure he raised an eyebrow at that, or would have, if he'd been able. Glancing away, her gaze fell on a bowl of water sitting on a stand next to the bed. There was a clean washcloth beside it. She guessed that Dawn had fetched it there, intending to wash the dried blood off Spike's face, but he'd obviously sent her packing before she could even start the task.

Without realizing she'd moved, Buffy found herself standing beside the bed, wet washcloth in hand. Hesitantly, she touched Spike's shoulder, urging him over until he lay flat on his back. His lips parted but she hushed him before he could speak.

"Don't. Just…let me help. Let me fix it."

It was as much of an apology as she could manage and perhaps more of one than he'd expected, judging by his sudden stillness. Nevertheless, as Buffy gently bathed the crusted blood from Spike's face, she couldn't quite bring herself to look him in the eye.

* * *

Later, she couldn't say what had first alerted her, the restless movement or the fever-hot flesh beneath her cheek. But even before Buffy had fully awakened, she knew something was very wrong.

"Don't…can't…gotta stop. Gotta _stop_…Pavayne…there's a hole in the world. Seems like…wouldn't change it for…the world. Her world…gone. S'posed to wear that on the inside, Charlie-boy. Help…Doyle said…said…where's Percy? Can't…you liked…Barry Manilow. Never figured…what's…harsh repose…harsh…soul…is…I'm in…"

A heavy sheen of sweat glistened on Spike's skin, causing damp tendrils of hair to stick to his neck and forehead. His body jerked and shuddered as his head moved restlessly on the pillow, a stream of nonsense spilling from his lips. His eyes had opened again, but this time they weren't blank. They were wide and focused on something only Spike could see. An invisible threat conjured up by his fevered brain? Buffy didn't know.

"Spike…what's wrong? Can you hear me? Spike!" The heat from his skin seemed so intense that for a few gut-twisting seconds, Buffy feared he might be burning up from the inside, just as he had that terrible day on the Hellmouth. But common sense thankfully reasserted itself as she realized his temperature was no worse than that of a normal human with a high fever. Of course, he wasn't human, and as a vampire he shouldn't even register above room temperature, but at least he wasn't about to burst into flame.

She flew from the bed and hit the call button on the intercom panel. Scant minutes later, a sleep-tousled Xander and a grim-faced Giles came barreling through the door. Giles took one look at Spike and sent Xander hurrying into the adjacent bath to fill the tub with lukewarm water.

It took almost an hour, but they finally got the fever down. Buffy had insisted on climbing into the tub with Spike, cradling him with her arms and legs, supporting his head above the water. At one point, she glanced up to find Illyria standing in the doorway, but Spike shifted, mumbling more nonsense, and she tightened her arms around him, bending her head to whisper soothing words into his ear. When she looked up, Illyria was gone.

She'd only retreated as far as the bedroom. Once Spike was resting quietly again, Buffy noticed the woman standing silently in a corner, observing everything with her unsettling eyes.

"He is trapped in the past."

Buffy adjusted a pillow and smoothed the covers down, then faced Illyria. "What?"

"His mind. It is trapped in the past. He speaks of things that are no more."

"You understand what he was saying?" Giles stepped into the room, drying his hands on a towel.

Her head tilted. "Yes. But it is of no consequence. Now is all that matters. He has slipped away again. I believe he is growing weaker. Soon, he will not be able to fight his way back. This is not acceptable. You _will_ help him."

"We are trying, Illyria. We don't know what to do for him."

"I do." Buffy shook her head as they turned to stare at her. "God, I'm such an idiot. Willow can help, Giles! Like she did with me. She can go into his head, she can bring him back. We just have to call her, tell her to come over –"

"No." His voice was quiet but firm. "I'm sorry, Buffy, it's not possible."

"What…of course it is! She's done it before, Giles. All we have to do is ask her." Buffy looked at Xander, seeking his support. He stood in the open doorway, head bowed, avoiding her gaze.

"Willow did offer, Buffy, but as much as I regret it, I simply cannot allow it."

Her gaze swung back to Giles as the simmering anger she'd felt earlier flared into a red-hot flame. "You can't _allow_ it? Why? Because he's _just_ a vampire?"

"Yes! That's precisely why!" Giles was equally angry. "Think, Buffy…stop and think _exactly_ what you're asking. Spike is a vampire. Willow would have to delve inside his mind, immerse herself as she did in yours. Do you know what that would mean? The mind of a vampire? Surrounded by all of his memories, all of his past actions. Prisoner to a demon's darkest impulses. Do you really want to subject her to that?"

In the face of his reasoning, Buffy's anger evaporated, leaving her drained and more than a little ashamed. She hadn't given a thought to how it might affect Willow. The only one she'd been concerned about was Spike. Numbly, she shook her head. "No. Of course, I don't. I didn't…"

"Humans are weak." Illyria's voice dripped contempt. "What is there in his mind that is any worse than yours? The only difference is that he does not hide from it. Humanity denies the darkness inside, pretends it does not exist. You are fools, all of you."

"Maybe so," Xander spoke up from the doorway, "but _this_ fool is getting a little tired of you and your high-and-mightiness. I know he's your friend, but Willow is mine, and I'm not going to let her risk herself when we don't even know what's wrong with him. So you can take your damn attitude and stick it where the sun doesn't shine." Smiling weakly at Buffy and Giles, he shrugged. "Not big on originality, I know, but it's the best I can do at this hour of the night."

Xander sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I want to help. I do. And we'll find a way, somehow, but that's not it. In the meantime, we've been going non-stop for almost a week and we've got another big day ahead. We should try to get a little rest while we can." He looked at Buffy. "If you need anything, I'm just an intercom away." With a shrug and a wave, he disappeared down the hall.

Illyria, anger radiating off her in waves, stood for several beats, staring first at Spike, then at Buffy. Her chin rose as she seemed to reach a decision, but instead of speaking, she turned and walked out the door. Her abrupt departure left an uneasy silence in the room.

"Well, isn't this just _brilliant_."

The anger she had expected, but the vicious bitterness in Giles' voice surprised Buffy.

"Giles…it's not his fault." She was too drained to be angry herself, but she wouldn't let it go unchallenged. They weren't talking about Spike's condition, or Illyria's outburst, or even Willow's safety anymore, and they both knew it. Buffy could feel the lecture coming, and she wondered what form it would take. _No good can come from giving your heart to a vampire? You've worked hard to build a new life for yourself, so don't muck it up now on a hopeless cause?_ But when she finally met his eyes, she found unexpected sympathy there along with the anger.

"It's not Spike I blame, Buffy, as difficult as that may be for you to believe. I hold responsible whatever _bloody_ powers there are that think of us as nothing more than pawns, as puppets dancing at their whim. They must find this all so terribly amusing…the _wankers_."

Hearing that familiar word coming from Giles made Buffy laugh, even as her eyes filled with tears. She dropped into the chair next to the bed and looked over at Spike, a sleeping statue once more.

Giles' voice softened. "Right now, Willow is concentrating all of her energy on locating Angel. Spike is here, and he's alive…more or less. And we'll continue to search for another way. But I promise you, Buffy, if it comes to that point and Willow is still willing to take the risk, which I very much expect she is, then we'll reassess the situation."

Buffy couldn't take her eyes off Spike's deathly still face. She knew Giles was waiting for a response, but she didn't seem to have one. Instead, she reached over to adjust the sheet, letting her hand linger on his chest, covering the spot where she would have felt his heartbeat if he'd had one.

When the door closed, she didn't look up.

* * *

TBC in Part 3 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

For the next two days, little happened. Willow called to report on the coven's continuing efforts, which had thus far had failed to produce anything of note. Illyria kept her distance, except for a brief appearance as "Fred," which Buffy had found more than a little unnerving. Giles continued to research Spike's condition, assisted by Xander, who also checked in with Dawn via long distance.

At first, Buffy had asked him not to tell her sister about Spike but changed her mind when she realized that, by keeping the news from Dawn, she'd be guilty of the same offense as Giles.

Dawn, naturally, had been halfway out the door before Xander had persuaded her to wait a few more days until she'd finished her final exams. She argued loudly but reluctantly stopped when Xander insisted Spike would want it that way. He promised to keep her updated and to call her the second anything changed. They also agreed it would be better for all concerned to keep Andrew in the dark, at least for now.

During those two days, Buffy rarely left Spike's side. She hated being so helpless, the way it made her feel. She longed to go out and kill something just to prove she wasn't totally useless. But even though it might make _her_ feel better, it wouldn't help Spike. So she stayed and took care of him, bathing him with a cool sponge in hopes of keeping the intermittent fever in check, talking to him in low, soothing tones, or trying to coax blood down his throat whenever he opened his eyes. She had little success with the latter, and it frustrated her to the point that she actually considered hauling off and punching him, as she had Angel all those years ago, just to force him to feed.

Buffy froze, eyes widening. God, how could she have forgotten? Faith had poisoned Angel, causing almost the same kind of symptoms Spike now exhibited. What if…?

She was halfway to the door when she stopped, mind racing. She couldn't tell Giles, not yet. If Spike _had_ been exposed to the same kind of poison, on the tip of a blade or the point of an arrow, then there was only one cure. And it was one that Giles would never agree to let her try, not after she'd almost died forcing Angel to drink from her.

She straightened, her resolve hardening. If her blood could save Spike, nothing would keep her from giving it to him. Nothing, that is, but Spike and his inability to feed.

Buffy sighed and contemplated kicking the wall with her stylish yet affordable boots. Even if she had the knowledge and equipment needed to draw and bag her own blood, which she clearly didn't, the intravenous feeding had done little more than sustain him, while his near-catatonic state kept him from taking blood the usual way.

But there _was_ a time when he might be capable of it – during one of his spells of fever-induced delirium. He moved on his own, spoke on his own, and it didn't matter that he wasn't truly conscious of his actions. All that mattered was that he _did_ act. That meant, with the right approach, it should be possible to arouse his natural instincts, which in turn would lead him to feed.

And Buffy had a pretty good idea as to how she could arouse those instincts.

First, she checked to see that the door was locked. The prospect of an unexpected visitor didn't really worry her. It was late, and they'd been left largely undisturbed since that first night. But Buffy wasn't taking any chances.

As she made her way back to the bed, she began to disrobe, discarding her shirt and everything else piece by piece. A rueful smile curved her lips. All else aside, it was really too bad Spike wasn't awake to witness her little strip tease. Something told her he would have really appreciated it. If he had survived the shock, that is.

Sliding beneath the sheet, she pressed up against him. Slowly, she matched her breathing to the steady rise and fall of his chest, marveling anew at the anomaly that was Spike, and waited. And waited. And waited.

Just as she began to fret that nothing would happen, she felt him stir, the rising warmth of his body signaling the return of the delirium.

"Fred…where…can't lose…Fred, luv."

Buffy tried to ignore it, but the timbre of his voice as he spoke Fred's name sparked a hot pang of jealousy. She remembered the brief glimpse she'd had the day before of a sweet, beautiful, intelligent woman who seemed to feel entirely too much affection for Spike. A part of Buffy that she didn't like to acknowledge was relieved that woman no longer existed, while the rest of her felt deeply ashamed.

But this wasn't about her and what she should or shouldn't feel. This was about Spike and what he needed – something only _she_ could give. Buffy ruthlessly silenced the little voice that told her there were thirty-odd slayers right down the road who could also give Spike what he needed. The point being, it was her place to do it, not theirs.

Buffy brought her lips to his ear. "I'm here, Spike," she whispered. "I'm going to make you well again."

Gazing into his face, she placed a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. Tenderness between them had been so fleeting. It felt wrong somehow that now, as she freely gave him what he'd so desperately craved, he wouldn't even know. But there was no other way. She wouldn't consider the method used with Angel, and that left her only one other form of persuasion.

Lips grazing his cheek, whisper soft, she thought of all the times he'd pleaded for a chance to love her. All the times, she'd turned him down. Not just _turned_ him down, but _beat_ him down, turned him away, sneered at the creature who thought he could be a man.

There was only one monster in that relationship, and it had never been him.

Tears of remorse stung her eyes as she nuzzled at his neck, inhaling the sharp, heady scent of him, colored now by the faintest tinge of sweat. Once upon a time, there'd been a trace of Buffy, too, marking him as indelibly hers. Even when she'd hated it, she'd just as fiercely relished it. She wanted to mark him again, though she couldn't be sure he would still welcome it.

"_No, you don't. But thanks for sayin' it."_

Buffy shut out everything but here and now and the man lying next to her. She let her hands roam, mindful of his injuries, reacquainting herself with the form she'd once known so intimately. Soon, his mindless muttering turned to gasps and his body responded in a way that left little doubt about his ability to feel. He arched up into her hand, blindly seeking more, and she gave it to him.

Just as his movements reached a fevered pitch, her hand fell away, her heart leaping at the loud groan of protest that escaped his lips. At the same time, she glanced up and was disappointed to see his human face. He'd never changed during their sexual encounters, but a part of her had always suspected it took a conscious effort on his part. That he'd held back out of fear he would lose her completely if he did.

Now, when she desperately wanted to see his vampire visage, he remained stubbornly human. Stronger measures were needed to coax him out.

Slowly, gently, she moved above him, taking care not to burden him with her full weight. Head lowering, her mouth settled against the strong column of his neck, tasting the salty tang of sweat. His body shook and words spilled from his mouth, but she didn't let it distract her. Spike had always been vocal during sex, with dirty endearments and passionate promises peppered throughout their lovemaking.

It had _always_ been lovemaking, at least for him. Of all the harsh truths she'd had to face after Spike's return from Africa, this had been the hardest for Buffy to admit.

Her mouth continued its erotic play on his neck, teasing and tantalizing with moist kisses and gentle tonguing. When she fastened on a tender spot and scraped it with her teeth, his body jerked spasmodically beneath her. She pressed in closer, nipping and worrying and alternating with a steady licking. His breathing was harsher now, his movements more frantic. With a silent prayer, she closed her eyes and bit down hard, so hard she wondered if she might draw blood.

The result was electrifying. Spike arched wildly beneath her, his body slamming into hers as a loud growl reverberated through the room. Letting go, Buffy lifted her head and came face to face with the vampire. There was no recognition in his gaze, only a feral hunger, but it made her heart sing. She tilted her head, exposing her neck, then closed her eyes and waited for the strike.

It never came.

Her eyes flew open. Spike was still in game face, but his head had fallen back against the pillow. He was still aroused, and no doubt starving, but apparently unable to act on it.

Buffy almost howled with frustration. They'd come so close. It had almost worked. There had to be a way.

Her eyes darted frantically about the room and lit on a half-empty water glass sitting on the bedside table. In one fluid move, she grabbed the glass, dumped its contents, and shattered it against the table's edge. Then, grasping the largest shard, she pulled back just enough to drag the jagged edge across her forearm. A thin, red line appeared in its wake, trickles of blood running down to her wrist.

His head jerked, the scent of her blood causing his nostrils to flare. She lifted her arm, placing the cut over his lips.

"Please, Spike," she urged softly. "Drink from me…please."

He moved faster than she would have expected, his lips fastening on her arm, voraciously mimicking her assault on his neck, though fangs never penetrated flesh. She watched his throat move as he swallowed, mouth working to draw in still more of her slayer-enhanced blood. The low growling noise he made touched a primal place inside her, while his faint moans as he sucked moved her to tears. She shifted off of him, still holding her arm in place, and settled at his side, touching her forehead to his cheek.

Buffy was tempted to let Spike feed for as long as he wanted, to seduce him into biting her so he could have as much of the life-giving blood as he needed, but she knew it would be foolish and probably fatal. Reluctantly, she pulled her arm away, his wordless snarl of protest knifing through her heart.

When it died away, there was nothing but the sound of harsh breathing, hers and his. After several long seconds, her gaze lifted to his face. She froze.

He was looking at her. He was looking at _her_. Staring at her through amber eyes.

His mouth worked silently. For an instant, she had the crazy thought that was speaking and her brain just couldn't process it. Then a faint word reached her ears.

"Buffy…"

* * *

TBC in Part 4 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"…Buffy?" Spike spun around, gaze darting frantically. "Buffy!"

Where the bloody hell had she gone? She'd just been there. He was certain of it. He looked around again. For that matter, where the bloody hell was _he_?

"She's pretty worried about you."

Spike whirled again, coming face-to-face with…Fred? Stunned, he stood gawking like a school boy in a brothel.

Fred smiled indulgently. "Thing is, she shouldn't be. She's only going to mess things up."

Giving his head a quick shake, Spike resisted the urge to pinch himself; but only just. "Fred…" He squinted then straightened. "Hang on...you're not Fred."

"You always were a lot smarter than most people gave you credit for being." She tilted her head. "It's probably the hair."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not too inclined to take fashion hints from somethin' that can't even wear its own body. Speakin' of…" He leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous level. "Get. Out of. Her. Face…Now."

"Fred" laughed lightly, slapping playfully at his shoulder. "Oh, stop it, silly. We don't have time for things like that. Haven't you even wondered where you are?"

Spike frowned as he shot a sideways glance at his surroundings. He _had_ been, actually, just before the appearance of the thing that looked like Fred. But he'd been momentarily sidetracked. Truth was, he'd never been that good at multi-tasking. He'd always been more of a straight-to-the-kill, focus-on-the-goal type vampire. Which was odd, since his thought processes weren't the most structured, and he loved nothing so much as a good, chaotic brawl. But even then, he usually took it one brawl at a time. The soul hadn't affected that part of him much, merely made him a little more discriminating about what kind of chaos he embraced.

He sniffed. "Matter of fact, I have. Doesn't look much like LA." Didn't look much like _anything_ he recognized. It seemed to be some kind of void, filled only with the two of them and an endless, shifting sea of mist and fog. Everything, including the not-Fred, was cast in a soft, pink glow.

God, he hated pink. Such a bloody stupid color. Didn't have the balls to be red, wasn't good enough to be white. He couldn't imagine anything worse than living out the rest of his days bathed in such a namby-pamby hue.

That's it. Must be hell.

"Oh, stop it. You're not in hell. God, Spike, sometimes you're such a drama queen."

"_Oi!_ Out of my head!" He glowered at her. "Nobody invited you to go pokin' about in there. Wouldn't catch Fred doin' somethin' like that. She had more respect for people. She was something _special_, not like some nosy, pain-in-the-ass, pale imitation."

Not-Fred merely folded her arms, looking enormously amused.

"Anyway, 's warm enough to be hell," he groused. "Snuffed it, didn't I? In the big battle. So, what are you…some kind of gatekeeper?"

"What I am isn't important, but you're not in hell, and you're not dead. At least, not in the strictest sense of the word."

Spike sighed. Apparently, gutting a Kaznar demon would be easier than trying to get information from this bloody bint. "So where am I, then?"

"In between."

"In between," he echoed, eyebrows quirked as he waited for more. When it didn't come, he clenched his fists and his jaw. "In between what? Life and death? Good and evil? Clay and Ruben?"

Not-Fred shrugged. "Just…in between."

Spike snorted. "Bloody typical. You get your rocks off givin' me a bunch of nothin' and I'm left flapping in the wind. You can at least tell me about the others, right? What happened to them? What happened with the battle?" He sobered. "Did anyone survive?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Head cocked, he squinted into the nothingness. "Remember the alley. Remember the fight. Remember a bloody weird sound and a big wind." He stopped, his brow furrowed. "And…a room. With people." He frowned harder, trying to recall. "Rupert…and Red. And Illyria, too, I think." His gaze turned back to hers. "I wasn't in the alley."

She smiled. "Nope. You were there…in England. They pulled you out, you and Illyria."

"Or maybe I only imagined them," he challenged. "Like I'm probably imaginin' you."

"You are such a knucklehead." She laughed lightly, her tone affectionate. "They were real enough. So am I, just not the way you see me now."

Giving that some thought, he slowly nodded. "Fair enough. What about the others, then…Angel and Charlie?" He swallowed. "Are they dead?"

She shook her head and sighed. "Why do you always jump to the worst conclusion? You're dead, they're dead, none of this is real…there are other options, you know."

"Really. Why don't you tell me about them then?" he asked, sarcasm in full swing.

Before his eyes, all semblance of Fred vanished. The body was still there, but the face was a blank mask devoid of any emotion. The voice, when she spoke, was deeper than before – more like a cross between Fred and Illyria.

"Prophecy is not set in stone, and destiny can be rewritten. You taught us that, William."

For once, Spike was at a loss. Before he could recover his snark, the being in front of him morphed into Illyria.

"She meddles in things she does not understand. This cannot be allowed, or the prophecy will be altered and a new page written."

Spike shook his head, bewildered. "Prophecy? What prophecy?" He squinted. "Is this about that shanshu bugaboo? And who is this 'she' you're talkin' about?"

"She will call you back. You must not go. Whatever happens, you must resist."

"Who the hell are you talkin' about?" Spike yelled, his patience snapping.

Her head tilted. "The Slayer."

That stopped him cold. "The…Buffy? You're talkin' about Buffy?" Worried now, he started to pace. "What's she got to do with this? Is she all right? Not hurt is she? Woman never could mind her own business. But she's okay, right? Otherwise, she couldn't be meddlin' in whatever it is you won't tell me about."

He looked up to find Not-Illyria striding away. "Hey! Hang on there…answer me!" He started after her. "Blue! Answer my bloody question! Is she all right?" He started jogging, trying to catch up, but even though she seemed to be moving at the same speed, the distance between them grew. He finally gave up and skidded to a stop.

"Blue! Don't leave me here like this!" he bellowed after her. "I need you to tell me! Blue!"

An instant later, the leather-clad figure was swallowed up by the pink fog.

* * *

"I swear, Giles, he knew me. He woke up! He said my name! And it wasn't just the fever talking."

"I believe you, Buffy. Unfortunately, he seems to have slipped away again." Giles rose from his seat at the bedside where he'd been examining an unresponsive Spike. "It is quite encouraging, however, and he no longer has a fever. Did something happen?"

Buffy froze. "Something? What…something?" She surreptitiously tugged at the sleeve of her robe, making sure it still covered the cut on her forearm.

"I don't know. Some…sign that he was coming out of it? Something you said, something you did differently? Anything out of the ordinary."

Buffy licked her lips, which had suddenly gone very dry. "No. Nothing out of the ordinary."

_For a vampire._

Giles gave a slight shrug. "I'm at a loss to explain it. There's something else a bit strange, as well. It almost seems as if his injuries are healing at a faster rate. Not that they were really healing at all before, other than a very slight improvement with some of the lesser cuts and bruises. But looking at him now, I can tell the difference. Perhaps we should try the intravenous feeding again."

"No!"

He was startled by her vehemence, and Buffy offered a weak smile. "It's just that…if he is improving, and I think you're right, then we don't want to do anything that might interfere with that. Right? I mean, you've been feeding him and he didn't get better. Last night, you didn't and he did. Maybe we should hold off a little bit. See what happens."

She waited, holding her breath, until Giles slowly nodded.

"Perhaps you're right. We don't know what we're dealing with. For all we know, he may not be responding in a way that's normal to a vampire. As long as he doesn't get worse, I don't suppose there's any harm in waiting a bit."

Giles moved toward the door then stopped. "Buffy. Promise me, that whatever happens in here, you won't take any unnecessary risks." He turned to look at her. "If anything should happen to you, even if Spike recovered because of it, do you really believe he would thank you? How long do you think he would stay in this world, knowing he had been the cause of your death?"

Buffy's shoulders sagged. She should have known. "I was careful, Giles. I didn't let him take too much. I won't give him more than a little at a time, I swear. And there's no real danger. He couldn't even do it on his own; I had to help him. Believe me, he's not a threat."

"Now, perhaps, but what about later as he grows stronger? How much of a threat will he be then?"

"I can handle it. Trust me on this, please."

He stared at her solemnly. "It would seem I have little choice." At the door, he paused. "Buffy, I know your blood replenishes itself faster than that of a normal human, but there _are_ limits. Please, don't forget that."

"I won't," she promised, and smiled reassuringly.

It was only after the door had closed that her smile faded away.

* * *

Over the next three days whenever the fever appeared, Buffy "encouraged" Spike to feed. Each time he did, the fever quickly abated. A small part of her acknowledged that she got off on the erotic nature of the feedings more than a little, but mostly she avoided thinking about that aspect, focusing instead on Spike's rapidly improving condition. Rapidly improving in the physical sense, that is. No matter how hard she tried, there was no further sign of recognition on his part, no random moment of lucidity to give her hope. Trying to suppress her bitter disappointment, she redoubled her efforts.

She was equally discouraged that the coven seemed no closer to locating Angel, despite Willow's continued attempts to reassure her otherwise. When they spoke on the phone, Willow seemed eager to cheer her up. Maybe a little too eager. Something in her voice smacked of desperation, and it gave Buffy the sinking feeling that all of their efforts wouldn't be enough. That Angel was lost to them forever, and that Spike, somehow tied to his fate, would slip away from her without any hope of stopping it.

Late at night, as she lay beside him, she couldn't help wondering if it already might be too late. That even if he came back all the way, it wouldn't be to her. Other than that brief moment of recognition, her name never passed his lips. His fevered monologues were filled with references to his life in LA, but nothing about her. Nothing about Sunnydale. Nothing to indicate he'd ever had a life before last year.

Through his disjointed ramblings, she gathered bits and pieces of the time he'd spent away from her, but the picture they formed was a hard one for Buffy to accept. Plagued by nagging questions, one in particular, she knew that if she really wanted to help Spike, she had to get an answer.

Even though it might be one she didn't want to hear.

She found Illyria in the garden, bent over a large yellow flower that Buffy didn't recognize, studying it with an intensity that gave new meaning to the phrase "communing with nature." She looked strangely at home among the colorful flower beds, far less alien here than she had seemed in the formal parlor of the house.

"Did he love her?"

The demon lifted her head and with one fluid movement rose to face Buffy. "Her." The tilt of her head was quizzical, though it didn't sound like a question.

"Fred. Did Spike love her?" Buffy stood with fists balled, staring her down.

Illyria regarded her silently, the breeze playing with her blue-tinged hair. Buffy was about to repeat the question when she spoke. "Yes."

The answer caused a strange constriction in her chest. "Was that why he stayed in Los Angeles? To be with her?"

Illyria seemed to study her much the same way she had examined the flower. "You ask why he stayed, but what you really wish to know is something else. You wish to know why he did not leave and come to you. Humans are predictable." Something flickered in her face. "All but one."

Buffy took a deep breath, reminding herself she was there for information, not to antagonize. "So, what does he call you?

"He has many names for me. It is his way."

"If you're talking about 'love'…or maybe 'pet'…sorry to break it to you, Illyria, but he uses those a lot."

"Perhaps. He did not use them with me."

_Oh._

Buffy looked away.

_Guess he wouldn't have used Goldilocks, either, considering._

She turned back. "Did he call you Blue? Was that one of those…many names?" Waiting, Buffy felt a cold stillness settle over her. She knew the answer, had known it, really, from the moment he'd first started calling out to her. But there was always a chance…

"It was." Illyria cocked her head, clearly considering something. "I called him Half-Breed, in the beginning. I would not call him that now."

"So, I guess you two were…close?"

"Yes. Frequently. I enjoyed our intercourse. I liked the noises he made when I hit him. He was the only one who could properly challenge me. And he took me out. No one else did."

As the chill spread through her body, Buffy realized that suspecting something wasn't nearly as bad as knowing it. She'd thought the not-knowing would be the hardest part, but she'd been so wrong.

"I would have claimed Spike as my pet, but Angel would not permit it. Perhaps it would be allowed now."

Suddenly, Buffy wasn't cold anymore. She burned with fury and disbelief. "Your _pet_?" She spat out the word. "That's all he is to you?"

"You are angry now. Why? I would do him great honor. It is no small thing to belong to me."

"First off, bitch-god, Spike doesn't belong to _anyone_. Second, if he did, it would be me. So if all you can offer him is a collar and a leash, then back off!" Tossing her head back, Buffy barked out a harsh laugh. "God, I don't know why I was stupid enough to think you could help. He doesn't need you! He's not some _thing_, some lap dog. He has feelings and –"

She froze.

_Oh god._

Illyria remained silent, but Buffy barely registered her presence. She wondered who she was yelling at – the demon god or herself. All those things, all those terrible, terrible accusations. She'd been guilty of all of them. And never once had she apologized to him, not even at the end, when she knew how wrong she'd been. Because deep in her heart, she'd still thought of him as hers – as something, or someone, to own. As a vampire, who was less than human and therefore less worthy of her consideration. The same kind of consideration that she'd always freely given to another vampire.

_Oh god._

Raising her gaze to meet Illyria's, she searched for some kind of answer, some reassurance that she wasn't the same Buffy who had considered Spike her personal property to do with as she would. But if the answer lay there, she couldn't find it.

A noise on the gravel pathway broke the silence. As she turned, a slightly out-of-breath Xander slowed to a stop.

"You'd better hurry," he said. "Something's happened."

* * *

TBC in Part 5 


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Many apologies for the delay in updating. The story has grown a bit and I needed to revise this part to reflect that. Turned out to be a little harder than I thought.

I'm currently working on the next installment (in which Important Things happen :cough:Buffy/Spike:cough:), but there may be another delay. I haven't been able to get an Internet connection for days, apparently due to stupid static on the phone line, or so I'm told. If there's no joy to be had from the phone company, I'll be switching from dial-up to cable as soon as I'm able. I'm visiting my parents today and using their phone line to post this.

Also, if anyone's interested, I've changed my pen name to annapurna2 and set up an LJ account for posting fiction updates. You can find the link in my personal profile.

Now, on with the show…

**Chapter Five**

Willow's excitement practically vibrated through the phone line. "We found them, Buffy! They're in a level four dimension!"

Fist tightening around the receiver, Buffy glanced at Giles and Xander hovering nearby and at Illyria lurking in the background. They were all gathered in the book-lined study that served as Giles' private retreat. "That's great, Will. But what does that mean – 'level four'?"

Success made Willow extra perky. "It's a trans-dimensional classification system developed by the Osara. They're sort of…dimensional nomads, I guess you could say. They assign different levels based on all sorts of factors – environment, cultural and technological development, indigenous species…even odds of surviving if you go there. Well, especially odds of surviving, which is something you really, really need to have a good handle on when you're popping back and forth between dimensions all the time. Do you know they go through dimensions just like we'd walk from one room to another? It's pretty cool," she enthused.

"Willow. Point?" Despite her worry, a faint smile tugged at Buffy's lips. Willow might have changed a lot since their high school days, but some things invariably stayed the same.

"Oh. Sorry. Runaway train of thought. Um…basically, the level assigned tells you the degree of badness you can expect."

"Pretty handy. So, a level four is…?" Buffy left the question hanging.

"In layman's terms? Sort of halfway between _Sesame Street_ and _Day of the Dead_."

"Great. In a way that's really not." She sighed. "Especially since that covers a whole lot of territory. Why couldn't we have _Sesame Street_? I like fuzzy blue things and big-but-cuddly yellow birds."

"Sorry. It could be worse, though. It could have been a level nine. Only…um…we won't talk about that right now, 'kay? 'Cause, one, we don't have time, and two…you _really_ don't want to know."

Somehow, Buffy didn't doubt that. "So this dimension where Angel's trapped…you can open a portal, right?"

"Right. It'll take us a couple of days to make all the preparations and gather the energy we need, but we can definitely open it." Willow's voice was firm. Then she hesitated. "We just don't know how long we can _keep_ it open. Could be a day, could be a minute, which means you may not have enough time to find them and get out again. It mostly depends on how much juice it takes to open up the portal."

Running through possible scenarios, Buffy frowned. "What if you opened it long enough for someone to go through, then closed it? Could you keep opening it every so often…like automatic redial?"

"Sure, but like this first time, we'd need at least a couple of days in between each opening. Maybe longer, since the more times we do it, the less energy we have to draw on. And…there's another problem. Time passes differently in some dimensions. If we close the portal, you could wind up staying there a lot longer than it would seem like on this side. A _lot_ longer."

Slowly, Buffy nodded, then remembered that Willow couldn't see her. "Understood. I guess we'll just have to deal with that if and when it happens. In the meantime, start doing whatever you have to do to get that portal open. Let us know when you're almost ready."

Willow agreed and she hung up, turning to Giles who was now seated behind his desk, watching her expectantly. "How soon can Faith get here?"

Giles stared. "Faith?"

"Willow said they'll need a couple of days to get enough _mojo_ flowing to open the portal, but when they do we need Faith here and ready to go. There's no way of knowing how long they can keep it open, so every second counts."

Xander frowned. "Okay. Wait. What am I missing? You're sending Faith? You're not going after Angel yourself?"

Buffy shifted, bracing against the bleak pang that knifed through her. It was superceded by a deeper ache that left no doubt where her priorities lay. "I can't leave Spike."

No one spoke. Then Xander coughed.

"Well, Houston, I'd say we have a problem. Faith and Wood have gone walkabout in Australia. No way we can reach them in time."

"Unfortunately, Xander is correct." Giles rose, moving from behind the desk. "Under different circumstances, Willow might be able to contact them, but from what you've told us, any such attempt on her part would most certainly delay the opening of the portal and could even hinder the efforts of the coven. It simply isn't an option."

Xander peered at her intently, seeming to choose his words with care. "I know you're worried about Spike. I get that. But he's…okay, so he's not fine, but he's here. And he's alive, more or less, and getting better every day, right? Giles can look after him while we're gone. It probably won't take us any time at all. Much as it pains me to say it, Angel's a smart guy. I'm sure he's doing everything he can to stick close to where they landed. We'll pop in and right back out. It'll be like you're taking a little dinner break."

Giles was conspicuously silent. Buffy looked away, reluctant to meet his gaze. Unlike Xander, he knew what lay behind Spike's sudden improvement, and he probably suspected the same thing Buffy feared – that without slayer's blood to counteract it, Spike was dangerously vulnerable to the recurring fever.

Such was Buffy's quandary, boiled down to its most basic level. If Spike died because she went after Angel, it would be her fault, and if Angel died because she didn't – also her fault.

It didn't matter that Angel was perfectly capable of saving himself. It didn't matter that her blood was no more potent than donated blood from thirty-odd slayers less than five minutes away. If one or the other died, it would be because _she_ had failed him.

Suddenly, her emotions were bouncing back and forth faster than a Ping-Pong ball. A moment ago, she'd been certain of her choice. Now, doubt wormed its way in, turning her resolve into so much Swiss cheese. As her uncertainty grew, so did her anger at being expected to choose one over the other.

Buffy clenched her fists. That's exactly what it felt like – a no-win choice, carefully engineered by the same powers that Giles had railed against. For what purpose, she had no idea, though it didn't really matter.

Sending Faith after Angel had seemed an ideal solution. While there might be plenty of people who could rescue him, only Faith would fight as hard for it as Buffy herself. Normally jealous of the strange connection between Angel and Faith, she had abruptly found herself in the confusing position of counting on it. Now, she had to regroup.

If their positions were reversed, Angel would stop at nothing to get her back. Buffy knew that, and under normal circumstances she would do the same for him.

Only, these were hardly normal circumstances, and Angel wasn't the only one in trouble.

Illyria stepped forward, eyes locked on Buffy's face. "I will retrieve Angel…and Charles, if he lives."

"No offense to anyone, but…shouldn't we all go?" Xander glanced around. "Giles excluded, since somebody needs to stay with Spike and _no_ one in their right mind would trust _me_ with that assignment. We should probably draft a few of our friendly neighborhood slayers, too. I mean, who knows what we could run into there?"

"I have walked in worlds you could never imagine. I do not need assistance."

Buffy finally spoke up. "We have two days to decide who's going. Spike is getting stronger; he could wake up any time." She looked at Giles. "I should check on him now."

"There's no need. Mrs. Hudson would have called us if his condition had changed. There are still things we must determine, arrangements to be made."

"We'll settle it all tomorrow."

"Buffy…"

"_Tomorrow_, Giles."

She left a reverberating silence in her wake.

* * *

Spike felt as if he'd been walking for hours, though as far as he could tell time had little meaning anymore. He didn't know how long he'd been there, had nothing to mark the passage of days, couldn't even say if such a concept existed in that realm.

Frustrated, angry, and bored beyond sanity, he longed for something to kill or maim, a bottle to smash, or a wall to punch. Anything to dispel the massive amount of energy building to a Hiroshima-sized explosion. Stopping dead in his tracks, he threw back his head and howled with rage.

The sound was swallowed by the shifting mists almost as soon as it left his throat.

_Bloody. Fucking. Hell._

His chin dropped to his chest, shoulders slumping in momentary defeat. How many times had he been through this already? Caught in an endless cycle of buildup and release that jangled along his nerves like a metal spoon clanging against a tin cup. And in between the rounds of nettlesome nothingness lay vague recollections of something else – a sudden flush, an inexplicable weakness, a loss of consciousness, murky dreams that eluded his memory. And the sense, each time he came to, that something precious had slipped from his grasp.

Head lifting, Spike scanned the nebulous haze around him. Fists clenched and jaw squared, he resumed walking.

And the cycle began again.

* * *

"He did not feel worthy."

Buffy stopped, hand resting on the door to Spike's room. Illyria emerged from the shadows of the hallway.

"What?"

"He did not seek you out when his body was restored to him. He did not feel worthy."

"That's crazy." Bewildered, Buffy shook her head. "He sacrificed his _life_ to save the world. How could he not feel…?" Trailing off, she frowned. "He actually told you that?"

"He spoke of it to the shell." Illyria moved closer.

Okay. Confused now. "He went to the beach?"

Illyria halted, face reflecting a hint of uncertainty for the first time since Buffy had known her. "Perhaps. It has no relevance. He spoke to the shell…Fred."

"Oh." Buffy knew she had no right to resent Illyria for that, but she did. She hated that stinging reminder of how close Spike had been to someone who wasn't her.

Even more, she resented having to stand there in the hallway listening to Illyria. Tomorrow she'd be forced to choose, to make a decision she didn't want to contemplate right now. Tonight, she only wanted to be with Spike.

"You are torn."

Surprised, she searched Illyria's face. It hadn't sounded like an accusation, but she felt oddly defensive. "You're not?"

Illyria's chin raised. "No. There is nothing I can do here."

"Maybe not, but still—"

"Before the battle, each of us was charged with a task – one suited to our individual strengths. It is the same here. I do what I must, as do you." Illyria paused, ice-blue gaze going first to the door then to Buffy's arm, where it lingered a moment before locking with hers. "I will not fail. Nor must you."

Buffy's breath caught in her throat as the significance of Illyria's words sank in. She knew. Somehow Illyria knew. Almost before she could process that thought, she heard the familiar cadence of Xander's footsteps fast approaching down the corridor. Illyria turned at the same time she did, and Buffy wondered if the demon welcomed the interruption as much as she did.

"Sorry to interrupt the girl talk, but Giles wants you downstairs," he told Illyria, then backtracked as her chin rose. "What I meant to say was, Giles _humbly_ begs the honor of your presence to help with some questions that no one other than your exalted exaltedness could _possibly_ be able to answer."

Illyria's head tilted and her eyes flashed. "Do not mock me, human. My tolerance is not without end." With a last long look at Buffy, she was gone, striding down the corridor.

Buffy waited until Illyria was out of sight before turning to Xander. "Those questions – do they have anything to do with Spike or Angel?"

"Yeeeah…about that. I lied." At her raised brow, he shrugged. "It was that or tell her to go away. In which case, she'd snap me like a toothpick or grind me under her heel till I cried like a baby. _Not_ a pretty picture."

Buffy snorted softly. "So what happens when she finds out you sent her on a wild Giles chase?"

He shrugged, waving the question away. "I'm not worried. If Giles rats me out, I figure I have plausible deniability on my side."

Buffy nodded absently, her mind already inside the room with Spike. She'd been gone a lot longer than intended and now she was antsy to get back to him. The phone call from Willow, her encounters with Illyria, the conflicting emotions stirred up by news of Angel's whereabouts and worry over Spike – all of it pulled at her patience, twisting it taut. Reaching for the doorknob, she stopped when Xander's hand touched her arm.

He took a deep breath. "Listen, Buffy…I know we're not _officially_ talking about this until tomorrow, but Giles thought we should call for backup, just in case. He contacted Vi, and she's on her way."

She frowned. "What about Cleveland?"

"Things are quiet enough right now. If anything comes up while she's gone, Rona's got the junior slayers to help out. We, uh, thought about calling Kennedy, too, but that's a little dicey, what with the breakup and all. Willow's adjusting okay, but Kennedy…not so much."

"Right. Bad idea. Can we talk about this later?"

Buffy entered the room, trailed by Xander. Mrs. Hudson, who'd been with the Giles family for decades, was seated in a chair, quietly knitting away. Her plump face broke into a smile as Buffy approached the bed.

"I was beginning to think you'd taken up residence in the hallway, lamb."

Buffy smiled. "No, too drafty. Thanks for sitting with him."

"Don't you go thankin' me now. I'm happy to do it. Poor lad hasn't stirred, though I do think he's resting a bit easier since you came." Regarding him fondly, she clucked sympathetically under her breath. "It's a shame, it is. Such a handsome fellow. Who would have thought I'd be carin' so about a fierce vampire? But he's wormed his way into my heart, he has, with that fine face of his and that poor, lost soul."

As she rose to greet them, she beamed kindly at Buffy. "Mr. Hudson would tell you I've a soft spot for strays and an even softer one for lost causes. But don't you fret. Your lad ended up here for a reason, and you'll sort it out…you and Master Rupert. I've a good feeling about it." Nodding to Xander, she gave Buffy's arm a comforting squeeze. "I'll just be on my way now. I'm sure he knows you're back and is that much happier for it." Suiting action to words, she promptly bustled out the door.

In her wake, Buffy suddenly felt drained and strangely lethargic. Worried about Spike, resentful of Illyria, uncertain about Angel's fate and the choice she had to make – her thoughts seemed to flounder in that pit of quicksand she called a brain. Making it as far as the bed, she collapsed into the chair.

"I didn't know."

She blinked and looked up to find Xander watching her.

"How you felt," he clarified, shrugging self-consciously. "I mean, I knew you cared about the guy. Never could understand _why_ exactly, considering—" He broke off, shaking his head. "Erase that last bit, okay? It's not what I came up here to say. The point is, I never realized until you got here how much he really meant to you. Still means."

He knelt beside her, bringing them face-to-face. "I'm sorry we made you feel like you couldn't tell us." Stopping, he shook his head ruefully. "No. I'm sorry _I _made you feel that way. I swear I'd take it back, if I could."

Buffy responded automatically. "Xander—"

"Don't." His voice was quiet. "You're going to let me off the hook, and you shouldn't. I was angry back when I found out, for a lot of reasons. Mostly because I wanted you to think and feel the same way I did. Scoobies good. Vampires bad. A chipped vampire who thinks he can be one of us? Not even in the realm of possibility. I was wrong, and I'm sorry for it."

Buffy stared, searching his face. "So what changed?"

A self-deprecating smile curved his lips. "My perspective. Time has a funny way of doing that." With his head turned toward Spike and only his eye patch visible to her, Buffy couldn't read his expression. "As long as I'm being honest…and please, god, _somebody_ kill me before I say this…he really wasn't that bad. If you don't count the frequently-trying-to-kill-us part, the endless snide remarks about my manhood, the irritating smirk, and that whole…thing…at the Magic Box, that is. But, you know…after the soul…it was better."

Buffy's gaze dropped to her hands, carefully folded in her lap. "It was better before, too. It took me a long time to understand, but he was trying, Xander, he really was. None of us would see it. Instead of encouraging him, we just made it harder to keep going in the right direction."

Suddenly Xander was facing her again. "Hey…back up there, bucko. Let's not get carried away. I may be running along behind the Spike bandwagon, now, but you're not going to convince me that if only we'd welcomed him into the fold with open arms, all those pesky 'evil' issues would've vanished into thin air. You can tame a tiger, Buffy, but at heart, he's still a tiger. At least with the soul, Spike is more like a…cranky pussycat. A really _dangerous_ cranky pussycat, but one that can be domesticated.

"And, yeah, I'll grant you he was trying, and, in hindsight, we could have made it easier for him than we did. But, hey," he countered, offering a lopsided smile, "if being good were easy, everyone would do it."

Buffy glared. "Xander, I'm not stupid. I know it wouldn't have solved everything. I'm just…we could have tried, okay? And we didn't. We were awful to him, not because of what he did or anything he _used_ to do, but because of what he _was_." She bit her lip. "And because he stayed there and took it."

Suddenly earnest, she caught his gaze with hers. "Why did we do those things?"

Xander's face assumed a help-me expression. "Things in general, or particular things?"

"Stupid things. Hurtful things. Things that make you lie awake at night wishing you could take it all back, make it like it never happened."

"Ah. Those things." He shrugged, smiling sadly. "Why does anyone? For the same reason we _keep_ doing them, I guess…because there never seems like another way. By the time we figure out there is, it's too late. We've lost the chance and, for most of us, there's no getting it back." A soft huff of laughter escaped, tinged with a trace of bitterness. "You'd think we'd learn."

Hesitating, he added so softly she could barely hear, "I hurt her, Buffy. I hurt her so bad. She never really got over it."

The pain in his voice stunned her. "Xander…"

"I miss her, you know? Every day. I thought it would stop. Thought I could fill up that empty space with other things, other people. Didn't work. It's still there – part of me. Doesn't hurt as much anymore, and it's not like it's all the time. But it's there, and I wouldn't want it gone because it would mean losing her all over again."

Buffy felt her eyes fill with tears. What could she say – that she knew how he felt? That she had the same kind of regrets he did? It was pretty self-evident and the whole point of his confession to her. Speaking it aloud wouldn't change anything for either of them; it would only serve to trivialize his pain. Just as any words of comfort or contradiction would make her a bigger hypocrite than she already was. All she could do was gaze wordlessly back at him.

As if he recognized her dilemma, Xander offered another sad smile, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder before he rose. At the doorway he paused. "I'll never forget her, and I'll sure as hell never stop loving her. I just wish…that she'd known."

He stared at the floor, pent-up breath escaping in a deep, shuddering sigh. Then his gaze rose and locked with hers. "I'd give _anything_ to tell her that to her face. Even if…" He trailed off, glancing at Spike. "Even if she couldn't hear me."

The door closed quietly behind him.

* * *

TBC in Part 6 


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Apologies for the delay in updating, but I come bearing two new chapters in hopes of being forgiven. Phone line problem has been fixed and back problem is coming along nicely, thanks to lovely physical therapy, so I'm hoping there won't be any more bumps in the road to slow things down.

I hope you find this worth the wait!

* * *

CHAPTER SIX

An hour later, Buffy lay beside Spike, limbs entwined in a tantalizing union of fire and ice. It had always surprised her how well their bodies fit together, her form filling an invisible niche carved only for her. As if they'd been made for each other on the most intimate of levels.

Spike had said as much once, but the words he had used held no pretense at romance, rumbling in her ear with a carnal earthiness bordering on the obscene. They were dark and sweet and unbearably dirty, and at his last whispered utterance, she'd come. Nails digging into his back, helpless and keening, so hard she'd almost passed out. Time had stilled, lurched forward, and resumed, great gasping shudders leaving her weak and pliant in his arms.

The soft satisfaction in his gaze had ignited her rage faster than warm winds whipping up a California wildfire – white-hot fury flaring into a scathing glare and a swift shove that sent him tumbling backwards onto the stone-cold floor of the crypt's lower level. Before he could untangle himself from the cocoon of sheets pinning his legs, Buffy had scrambled from the bed, scooped up her clothes, and disappeared through the trap door above. Her last sight of him – sprawled on the floor, bewildered, angry, and painfully resigned – was etched bright and harsh in her memory.

He'd never said those words again.

Eyes squeezed shut, brow crinkled, she tightened her grip on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck as she burrowed her way deeper into the one-sided embrace. So much hurt, so many regrets, and only a waning hope of ever making it right.

A grim-faced Giles had admitted earlier in the day that he was no closer to finding the cause of Spike's condition than when he'd started. The few likely leads he'd unearthed had all hit a dead end, and though he'd promised to keep trying, his sympathetic gaze had spoken volumes, leaving Buffy with nothing to cling to but her own belief that he'd been poisoned during the battle.

Only that, too, seemed to be going nowhere. It was impossible to cure Spike all at once, as she had with Angel, without being drained near the point of death. Instead, she had hoped to do it in stages, letting her blood replenish itself between feedings and stubbornly ignoring the little voice urging her to call on the other slayers for help. Each day she fed him, and each day he improved. Bruises faded, cuts and abrasions healed, but her undead sleeping beauty refused to awaken.

Now, it seemed that her blind determination to be the one to save him could cost them both dearly.

Leaning in on one elbow, she studied his face, taking in everything from the scarred brow and angled sweep of his cheekbones to the full, lush curve of his mouth. She'd always thought him beautiful, reluctantly at first, even angrily. The very idea that evil could wear such a striking face had seemed outrageously perverse. Later, when she'd discovered just how striking the rest of him was, the true irony of it hadn't been lost on her.

Over their turbulent months together, her attraction to Spike had grown, and with it, the conviction that she was…broken. That only something equally dark and perverted could feel the primal stirrings his mere proximity awakened in her. That only someone hopelessly depraved would willingly seek out his company. She'd hated him for making her want him. Hated herself more for giving in.

And then the true horror hit. She'd found herself loving him in an almost helpless, compulsive way, as if his raw hunger and unremitting devotion demanded it. It was something she couldn't accept, something she had to hide -- from herself, her friends, and most of all him. To feel that way about someone who had killed with impunity, who had slaughtered innocents and laughed as he'd done it, had seemed the ultimate betrayal of her duty, her birthright, and everything she believed.

She'd loved Angel before she'd ever known that side of him. Spike, she'd known and loved anyway. Foreknowledge made it infinitely worse.

The bitch of it was that she still felt that way. Just days ago, after stumbling across damning evidence connecting Paulo to some less-than-benign activities, she hadn't hesitated. Italian authorities, human and otherwise, might have been willing to look the other way, but she couldn't. The relationship had ended, and so had The Immortal's latest sojourn in Rome. It hadn't been easy for her, but it _had_ been simple.

With anyone but Spike.

"There should have been some kind of warning, you know?" She smiled crookedly, fingertips skimming lightly across his forehead. "The first time we saw each other. Or…scratch that. The first time _I_ saw _you_ -- you being all stalker vamp and all." Head tilting to one side, she studied his face. "Just seems like there should have been something. A lightning bolt from the blue, big movie soundtrack, message from the Surgeon General…anything to clue us in on the mega drama to come. But that would have been too easy, right? And nothing with either one of us has ever been easy."

She rested her head on his shoulder, snuggling closer. "We are _so_ not your typical Hollywood love story. Girl meets boy, girl finds out boy is an evil, bloodsucking fiend whose big turn-on is to kill her and her kind, girl kicks his ass and generally makes his life hell but still falls for him anyway. Only, by the time she realizes it, it's too late."

She frowned. "Actually…I think we _are_ your typical Hollywood love story."

Falling silent a moment, she pondered the possibilities, then sighed. "Would it have made any difference if we'd known…or would things have happened pretty much the same? Like maybe we were fated or something. Only…as long as we're being honest here? I think a part of me did know, or should have known. I could tell you were different right from the start. Felt it, even before I realized what you were. It was the first thing that popped into my head when you stepped out of the shadows."

She bit her lip. "Well…okay…it was more like, 'Oooh, _pretty_.' Followed by '_Sooo_ hot,' 'Oh my god, what a sexy British accent,' and 'Hello! Fashion intervention!' I'm pretty sure 'Uh-oh, trouble' was mixed in there, too, but that only registered after you threatened to kill me."

Buffy glanced up, searching for some flicker of awareness as she sent her hand on a leisurely journey down his torso. It finally came to rest splayed across his taut belly. "C'mon, Spike," she wheedled. "Don't you want to wake up and gloat? Here I am, confessing I had the hots for you from day one, and you can't even manage a little smirk? That's beyond wrong on so many levels."

Falling silent again, she held her breath, against all reason letting herself hope, willing to believe for one fraction of an instant that he might actually respond. That his eyelids might flutter, his head turn, and his eyes open to find her lying there beside him. That he might smile and gather her close, and she would know everything between them was finally okay.

But he lay there, unresponsive and stubbornly out of reach. Her eyes closed tight against a rush of bitter disappointment.

"God, you're such a pain in the ass. But you're _my_ pain in the ass, and I'm not letting you go. Do you hear me?" she whispered fiercely. "Not. Letting. Go. You think you're the only stubborn one in this relationship? You have _no_ idea."

And that was the crux of it all, wasn't it? He had no idea. He'd gone to his death, or so she'd thought, certain that nothing more than pity had moved her to say the words. She couldn't stand knowing he'd believed that, couldn't bear that she'd done nothing to convince him otherwise.

How many times had he professed his love for her, and how many times had she thrown it back in his face? Even as she'd finally acknowledged his feelings, right before everything had gone to hell, she'd done it with unconscious cruelty and a condescending compassion that had cut him to the quick. She hadn't meant to be callous, hadn't even realized it until much later, but the truth weighed heavily on her now.

So many things to regret – the dawning hope in his eyes when she'd come to him the night of Riley's return; the anguish in his voice afterward as she'd turned away. And later still, the silent accusation of his gaze when she'd pretended to her friends that their cozy chat in the cemetery had been nothing more than a cold interrogation.

An ugly part of her had relished that power to wound him, to make him pay for his presumption and suffer for her pain. Words had been her weapons, and she'd wielded them gladly, never once stopping to wonder if she should.

More scenes, bitter scenes played out in her head, shame bubbling up in her throat like thick bile. Words and images careened through her mind, turning cartwheels with raw abandon, crashing into unspoken regrets and lost opportunities, tangling together until the muddled mess in her head at last coalesced into a single coherent thought, and without even meaning to, she cried it aloud.

"I'm _sorry_! God, I'm sorry!"

And just like that the damn broke, releasing a torrent of muffled words that tumbled against his throat.

"Is that where it starts? It's stupid, and…I don't know. It doesn't seem like enough. There are things I have to say, but I can't remember. I practiced them over and over in my head, those first weeks you were gone – everything I should have said, and it still wasn't right. Good old Buffy is all about the quippage, but when it's something important, something that really matters…"

One balled fist gave a feeble, frustrated thump to his chest. "You're the one with the words…me, not so much. Unless it was to hurt you, and then it was easy. Too easy. I don't want to hurt you anymore, Spike…ever. And if you'd just come back, I could show you…prove it to you. I could make you understand. All you have to do is come _back_."

Something damp touched her cheek, but she brushed it away.

"C'mon, Spike. You know I'm going to win this. I always do. I want you. Here. With me. Safe and well. So you might as well save yourself the trouble and wake up now. And…if things have changed…if you don't feel the way you did before…that's okay. I'll deal. Just as long as I know you're all right. But you can't leave like this. Not without knowing. Not until you really believe. Even if you don't want to be with me anymore, you _have_ to know that you were loved. You deserve that."

Voice breaking, she buried her face deeper in the crook of his neck. It scared her, how out-of-control she felt, how very much she wanted this. For so long, she'd kept the deepest part of her locked away, built walls to hold out the hurt, buried feelings to deny the pain. It had worked so well, she'd convinced herself she couldn't love anymore, but she'd been so wrong.

She loved. Oh, how she loved.

"I don't even understand why. _Why_ you loved me so much. How you could love me at all. It's not like I gave you any reason. Stupid vampire. I wouldn't have loved me. I wouldn't have been able to stand me. And, okay, sometimes you deserved what happened to you, but most of the time…with us…you really didn't."

More wetness now, dripping silently off her chin.

"I don't know how to make it right, but I want to so much. I hate the way I treated you. I hate that I didn't understand what you felt…that I didn't _want_ to understand. I hate that I hurt you and didn't care, and that I can't go back and do things differently. But most of all…more than any of those other things…I hate that I made you believe I could never love you the same way you loved me."

She felt lost and so far from slayer-like that she might as well hang up her stake – as vulnerable and exposed as she'd ever been.

"Spike, look…you want me to beg? I'll beg, okay? I'll do anything it takes. Just please, _please_ come back."

No flutter of lashes, no barely detectable moan -- only the relentless in and out of useless breath as he mocked her with his absence.

She exploded. A white-hot anger she hadn't even felt boiled up so fast and hard her trembling body could barely contain it. Bolting upright, she grabbed his head, holding it between her palms as she stared into his face. "Damn it, Spike! You're not a quitter! You don't give up…you _never_ give up!"

And there it was at last – a slight flaring of the nostrils, a tiny parting of the lips. She would have missed it had she not been so close. Her breath caught, trapped in her throat. She was afraid to move, afraid to speak, afraid she might have imagined it.

Then his head moved in restless delirium as the burning heat of his skin sent her hopes plummeting. The fever had returned.

It was a bitter blow. Her anger resurged, and with it came a steely desperation that sent her mouth crashing down on his. She pushed him back into the pillows, hands roaming his body, touching, caressing, possessing as much of him as she could. She peppered his face with butterfly kisses, murmuring words that made no sense. Her mouth slid lower, tongue tasting the sweet hollow of his throat, tracing along the taut muscles and strong curve of his neck.

Her hand closed around him, cupping and stroking, making him hard. Always so hard…for her. Only her.

She shifted again, lips and tongue seeking out his nipple, mimicking the actions of her hand as it teased and fondled him with sensuous deliberation. Though still unconscious, his body responded as it had each previous time, muscles tensing, chest heaving, the ragged cadence of his breathing unnaturally loud in the silent room.

Just as she started to pull back and place her wrist against his lips, she heard a sound that froze her in place. Her name – soft and barely recognizable, but definitely her name. Hardly daring to hope this time, she looked up…and almost sobbed with relief.

He stared back at her through heavy-lidded eyes, eyebrows drawn together, nostrils flaring, panting hard. He looked confused, even dazed, but as her hand left him, he uttered a low groan of protest, hips jerking in a desperate bid for attention.

She laughed, eyes brimming with joyous tears, as she slipped her hand into his. Leaning over, she dropped a soft kiss onto his hard abdomen…

And moved lower.

* * *

TBC in Part 6 


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** I'm having a lot of fun writing Chapter 8, so I hope not to be too long with the next update. I'll get it finished as fast as I can!

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CHAPTER SEVEN

He was dreaming again.

Invisible hands roamed his body, touching, caressing, pressing into him and around him. Nowhere and everywhere, never enough and too much. Leaving him adrift. Setting him on fire.

Warm breath flowed across his cheek, essence of peppermint and mocha tickling his eyelashes, grazing his brow. Half-formed words faded in and out, meaning lost in a haze of sensation.

His head arched back, acquiescing to the moist tongue lapping insistently at his neck. Licking, licking softly and steadily in the tender hollow of his throat, curling against his skin, tracing patterns along tendons stretched taut beneath the welcome assault. Soft nibbles and sharp nips joined the fray, sending tiny eruptions of pleasure racing along nerve endings. Muscles clenched, breath caught.

Fingers drifted in a languid dance down his abdomen, stoking the fire burning fierce and hot in his belly. A hoarse shout burst from his throat as they closed around him, weaving a spell of golden-honey warmth that left him wild and rampant with need. Ruthless in their devotion, they teased and soothed, tickled and stroked, worshipped and adored, always unhampered by clothing that invariably dissolved into the hazy edges of these dream encounters. His voice broke as he whispered her name.

Velvet heat descended, driving him upward, grunting and gasping, blindly seeking more. He closed his eyes to the shifting mists and dreamt of a blonde head poised above him. Hands rose, fisting in silken air, as he rode the swell higher and harder, breaking and surging, until at last he shattered and came apart, like flotsam caught on the crest of a wave and jetsam forever lost to the shore.

His head rolled to one side as he lay prostrate on the ground, chest heaving, weak with repletion, but still hard and aching. Despair rose in his throat, a sense of loss so keen he thought he might choke on it. Any moment, he would wake, and the dream would fade. No memory to warm him, nothing to hold on to – all alone with only a hollow space inside. Trapped in an endless void of nothingness.

A feather-soft caress grazed his hip.

He froze, too afraid to hope that it would come again. When it did, he nearly exploded with relief. Muscles tensed, straining in anticipation as teasing strokes segued into a steady stream of cascading touches, propelling him to great shuddering gasps that left him teetering on the brink. Head arched back, lips moaning her name, he waited for the plunge…

That never came.

Quivering and bereft, he breathed a low, agonized groan, protesting the abrupt abandonment. His eyes flew open, searching wildly for his phantom lover, then widened as the air in front of him rippled, parted, and reformed. Nebulous shadows coalesced into firm flesh that settled over him, taking him in, covering his nude body with hers.

Bending, she brushed against his chest, arching and mewling, hips rising and falling in mindless rhythm. His arms locked around her, pulling her closer, skin against skin, as they flowed together like cool cream and warm molasses. Adoring hands swept down the length of her back, following the sweet curve of her ass, squeezing and kneading, then gliding lower still.

Mouth covering hers, he opened wide to swallow a welcoming moan as his fingers slid home. At the same time, his tongue plunged between her lips to taste the velvety depths with a frenzied need that screamed of desperation.

Another shift, and he was above her – forehead to forehead, eyes fixed on hers with single-minded intensity. He thrust harder and faster as her nails dug into his biceps and she rose to meet him with an unleashed fervor that matched his own.

At some point, a bed had materialized beneath them, a fact that registered only now in a distant part of his brain. A familiar hunger began to build as her head pressed back into nonexistent pillows, baring her throat to him, egging him on with soft cries and the haunting beat of her pulse. In the space of a breath, he felt the change take him over, smooth forehead gliding into ridged brow. Loosing a long, low growl, he tried to turn away, but soft hands caught and framed his face, denying him escape.

Her frenzied movements slowed and stilled as he waited for the inevitable, knowing with near-fatalistic certainty that not even this dream Buffy would accept that part of him. But in the depths of passion-darkened eyes, a smoldering spark ignited, and with a quick lunge her mouth crashed into his. Heedless of his razor-sharp fangs, she devoured him – deep, endless kisses with warm trickles of slayer ambrosia teasing at his tongue.

When she finally came up for air, he found his gaze riveted to her mouth and the tiny beads of blood glistening on her lower lip. With another low growl, he leaned in, claiming the droplets in one possessive sweep of his tongue. As he pulled back, she looked at him with heavy-lidded eyes, hand lifting to trace the curve of his mouth.

"Mine," she whispered.

He froze in mid-thrust, hand halfway up her thigh. Then the word erupted in his mind like molten lava shooting into the sky, and with a strangled cry, his mouth descended on hers in a feverish kiss that surpassed all sense of time and place.

Clarity spiraled away in a blur of ardent gasps, desperate kisses, and savage movement. When he at last came to himself again, he was buried to the hilt, her legs locked around him, his fangs penetrating her neck. With each greedy pull of his lips, his mouth filled with the hot, sweet tang of slayer's blood, while beneath him, she writhed and panted, hands tangling in his hair, holding him firmly in place.

He shifted slightly and her grip tightened. Fingers twisted and pulled, urging him on. Ever obedient, he bit down harder even as the speed and force of his thrusts increased.

She rewarded him with an arched back and a high keen, heels beating a wild tattoo against his backside as he drove them ever closer to the brink. She met him thrust for thrust, hips undulating, seemingly unfazed by the relentless way he went about possessing her.

Just when he felt he would surely dust from the sweet agony of it all, a final explosive thrust sent them rocketing over the edge. Her frantic cries of release rang in his ears as his own pleasure crested, the sheer intensity of it crashing over him in great shuddering waves. Unable to contain it, he tore his fangs from her neck and threw back his head, a loud roar of fulfillment erupting from somewhere deep in his chest.

He rode the wave down, chest heaving, muscles trembling, her hands falling away from his shoulders as she relaxed beneath him like butter melting in a pan. Lowering his head, he saw her gazing at him with a heartrending tenderness he'd never found in those hazel depths. It spoke to a part of him he'd tried hard to bury along with the hellmouth.

She blinked slowly, as if awakening from a deep sleep, then sighed and stirred. Questing fingers reached up to touch first his mouth, then the still-tender mark he'd left on her neck. She smiled, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"I knew you'd come back."

Her arms reached up, twining around him as she pulled his head down, guiding him back to the golden curve of her neck. He went willingly, aware on some level that she would soon be gone, dissolved into the ether, and that he would inevitably wake to the bleak loneliness of his own personal hell. He wouldn't question; he would only feel.

Fangs sinking into her tender flesh, he marked her for a second time, his eyes closing as he began to drink. But with each heady pull at her neck, something niggled at the edges of his mind, until at last it cut through the gossamer haze enveloping him.

He jerked, as if a vial of holy water had been splashed in his face, and pulled free, his vampire visage vanishing beneath a crush of horrified confusion. The next instant, he was across the room, back pressed against the door, his chest heaving in full-bloom panic.

Buffy sat up, seemingly heedless as the sheet slipped down around her waist, and gazed back at him, the contented glow in her eyes fading to uncertainty. Her hand rose, halfway reaching out to him.

"Spike?"

He fled out the door, his name echoing behind him.

* * *

TBC in Part 8 


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **I didn't get Chapter Eight posted before I left on vacation last week. My bad. But just in case anyone has been waiting with bated breath, maybe _two_ chappies at once will make it up to you!

Here's the first one. Hope you like…

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**CHAPTER EIGHT**

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"Spike!"

Eyes wide, Buffy scrambled off the bed. No. This couldn't be happening. Please, not now. Not after…

A wave of dizziness hit and she wobbled, grabbing the bedpost to keep from falling. Then it was gone, the roaring in her ears receding as her vision cleared. Still a little shaky but steady enough not to fall on her face, she bolted after Spike but stopped short as the cool air of the room reminded her of her current lack of clothing. With a muttered oath that would have made Spike proud, she whirled and darted back to the bed, yanking off the sheet and struggling to wrap it around her.

A muffled scream sounded from the hallway. Her head shot up. Kicking aside the trailing end of the sheet, she rushed to the door in an awkward stumble-hop and threw it open, skittering to a dead halt as she came face-to-back with Spike.

He hadn't made it far, just barely past the threshold. Over his shoulder, Buffy could see the source of the scream – a young housemaid named Kitty. She stood frozen in place, a pile of crumpled bed linens at her feet and one slightly pudgy hand covering her mouth, eyes large and staring above it.

At first, Spike didn't look back, didn't acknowledge her presence in any way, but then his head turned and she saw the confusion in his face.

"I don't have clothes," he said softly.

Her heart lurched at the bewildered tone, so very un-Spikelike. It was painfully close to the way he'd sounded when she'd first found him living in the high school basement.

She glanced quickly at Kitty and realized the girl seemed to be making a quick recovery from her initial shock. Looking not so much traumatized as fascinated now, her wide-eyed gaze boldly settled on a particular part of Spike's anatomy.

Buffy scowled in her direction, then spoke softly to Spike. "We'll get you some clothes, Spike. Just come back in the bedroom, okay?"

At first, he didn't respond. She wondered if her words had even registered. Then his head bowed and he turned to brush past her, his eyes avoiding hers. As she was about to follow, she noticed Kitty edging closer, craning her neck to better keep an eye on the retreating view.

Tugging the sheet higher, Buffy stepped in front of her. "Not that I don't understand, but if you don't stop ogling my boyfriend, I'm gonna have to hurt you."

The girl's eyes grew even larger as her mouth snapped shut, and Buffy felt the tiniest pang of guilt.

"Just kidding," she said. "Except about the ogling part. Or the part where I tell you not to mention this to anyone, or I'll get majorly pissed. Um…that's mad pissed, not drunk pissed. And I don't really think Mr. Giles would be too happy about it either," she added. "So, we're good, right?"

Kitty's mouth opened and closed a few times, but only a slight squeak escaped. She eventually settled for nodding, ducking her head as she did so. Feeling like a big fat bully, Buffy reached out and touched her arm. Kitty's head jerked up, and Buffy smiled encouragingly.

"Sorry. I really do understand. I mean, _really _do. But let's still keep this our secret, okay?"

This time, Kitty's nod was more enthusiastic, her face glowing with relief. Buffy smiled again, shuffling backwards into the bedroom while trying to maintain as much dignity as possible. Before she could close the door, a commotion sounded down the hall, freezing her in place. Giles charged into view, his headlong rush slowing and halting as he caught sight of her. His expression changed from worried uncertainty to wary relief, tinged with a hefty dose of embarrassment.

A suddenly galvanized Kitty jumped to scoop up the bed linens. Scurrying past him, she mumbled something Buffy couldn't quite catch then disappeared less than a second later, leaving Buffy and Giles to stare tongue-tied at each other.

Giles cleared his throat, hurriedly removing his glasses as he glanced away then back. He carefully studied the wall just to her left. "I thought…well…Mrs. Hudson heard a scream."

Buffy clutched the sheet tighter. "Yeah, it was…it was Kitty. She was kind of…startled."

Giles nodded. "I had no idea she was so excitable."

"Giles…" She made sure her hair covered her neck, trying not to be obvious about it. "Spike is awake."

Awkward Giles vanished in an instant. "I see." His piercing gaze pinned her. "And how long has he been…?"

"It just happened. I swear it just happened. I haven't even talked to him yet." Glancing over her shoulder, she located Spike sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to her. Thankfully, he was well out of Giles' line of vision. She turned back, lowering her voice. "You don't have to worry, I promise. But I need some time here. We'll be down later."

When he started to object, she cut him off. "Giles, please."

Instead of arguing as he so clearly wanted to do, he nodded, his face taking on a familiar resigned look. Settling his glasses back in place, he sighed. "Very well. I'll inform the others. Perhaps you could at least join us for dinner, if not before. Spike, too, if he's feeling up to it."

Buffy watched as he retreated back down the hallway, then closed the door, drawing in a deep breath as she swung around to face Spike. She almost jumped when she found him standing less than an arm's length away. They stared at each other.

There were so many things she wanted to say. How badly she'd missed him. How happy she was to see him alive and well. How angry she'd be at him for keeping his return a secret, once she got past being so happy about it. How deeply moving their lovemaking had been.

"You ran away."

She hated that her voice sounded so small and vulnerable.

He opened his mouth then blinked. "What?" He frowned. "Didn't run away."

"Yes, you did. You ran away."

"Did not.

Now it was her turn to frown. "Did so."

"_Didn't_." He frowned harder. "I was just…lookin' for a fag."

She rolled her eyes. "Naked."

"Yeah, well…" He shrugged. "Been awhile since I had one."

She snorted softly, lips quirking in a faint smile, then sobered quickly as his expression changed from macho-defensive to something achingly akin to awe. For several seconds, neither one spoke.

"Hey," she ventured at last.

"You're real."

She nodded. "Really am." Tears stung her eyes as she gave him a tremulous smile "So are you."

Naked Spike and memories of what they'd just done together made it really hard to concentrate, but Buffy knew he needed an explanation. So she did her best to oblige.

"Look, I know you're probably confused. A lot's happened, and you don't have any idea where you are or how you got here. So first things first, okay? You're at Giles' home. In England. He and Willow got wind of something bad going down in LA. They did a spell and teleported you here, you and whatshername…Illyria."

She paused, but he didn't respond. His eyes never left her face.

"Anyway, when you got here you were hurt pretty bad, and you weren't really healing the way you should. Something else was going on, too. You wouldn't wake up. I think maybe you were poisoned and it was keeping you from getting better. So Giles called me, and…well, there's some other stuff we can get into later, but…bottom line…you're awake now, and you're okay. Right?"

The reassurance Buffy craved didn't come. "Spike, you are okay…aren't you?" Biting her lip, she moved closer, head tilting back to gaze into his face. Something flickered in his eyes and he looked away, body tensing, jaw tightening. He didn't pull back, but she could feel everything in him straining away from her. Stricken, she froze.

"Spike?"

"Get away." He said it calmly, as if commenting on something as innocuous as the weather.

She blinked at him stupidly.

"All right. If you won't, I will." He very deliberately stepped backwards.

At first, she could only stand there and gape in disbelief. Then she took a deep breath. "Okay. Wait. Can we start over? 'Cause I don't know what just happened here."

His hard gaze fell on her neck. With her hair swept behind her shoulders, the mark he had left there would have been clearly visible to him.

"Oh, yeah. You do. You know _exactly_ what just happened."

The growling anger in his voice shocked her. "Spike, just calm down a minute—"

"_Bugger_ calm! I was _biting_ you! I damn near killed you! Do you even care?"

That hit an old nerve, and Buffy felt herself go from confused to livid in less than half a second. Pulling the sheet tighter, she glared up at him. "First off, not really feeling near death here, and second, what the _hell_ is that supposed to mean? And don't you dare give me that old line about a death wish, because I am so over that!"

"Right. So you were beatin' me off with your neck then."

She tossed her head, exasperated. "Is that what this is about? Okay, _fine_. We made love, you made with the biting thing, and then you got all freaky and ran away. Big deal!"

"It's a _bloody_ big deal! What in the buggering hell did you think you were doing?"

"Saving your life, you idiot! You couldn't feed on your own, regular blood wasn't helping…you were _dying_. It was the only way to bring you back!"

Dark brows drawn together, he glared at her. "Yeah? How's that?"

Taking a deep breath, Buffy chose her words carefully. This was just a stupid misunderstanding. Somehow they'd gone from making mad, passionate, bitey love to this, and now it was up to her to fix it. It wasn't really something she wanted to get into, and he definitely wouldn't like hearing about it, but there was no other way.

"A few years back, Angel was poisoned. He was dying and the only cure was the blood of a slayer. Your symptoms were a lot like his. We couldn't find any other answer, so…" Her gaze steady, she met his eyes. "I gave you the blood of a slayer."

Seconds ticked away as she searched his face. Maddeningly calm and aloof now, his expression was unreadable.

Then his head tilted. "And how exactly did the shaggin' figure into it?"

The question hit her like a blast of frigid air. "What?"

"You heard me. The shaggin'…that part of the cure, too, or just a fringe benefit? Is _that_ how dear old grandsire lost his soul? No, wait…couldn't have been. On account of it was Faith who poisoned him, so that must have been a good while _after_ you gave him the big happy."

At her disbelieving stare, he nodded. "Oh, yeah, heard all about it…and about your little trip to the hospital after lover boy got a bit greedy. Your friends made sure of that as soon as you moved me into your basement. Worried I might get a little naughty, or you might forget yourself and they'd end up with a repeat performance." He snorted. "Thought they were off their bean then, thinkin' you'd make the same mistake twice, especially with me. But maybe it wasn't such a cockeyed notion after all."

"Stop it, right now! You don't get to turn this into some kind of lame contest between you and Angel! Why are you acting this way?"

His icy blue gaze challenged her. "Think the bigger question is, why were _you_ offerin' yourself up like my bleedin' birthday prezzie? Retirement provin' a bit much for you, slayer?" His voice lowered. "Need a bit of a thrill?"

He stood there, jaw clenched, muscles tensed, obviously expecting her to fight back, or maybe even hit back. Instead she stared at him, drowning in a weird sense of _déjà vu_. It had been so long since she'd seen this side of Spike, not since his soulless days, really. She'd forgotten how keenly his words could cut.

But only if she let them. Her gaze hardened.

Stepping back, she dropped the sheet and turned on her heel, ignoring the slight hiss of indrawn breath behind her. Moving to the large wardrobe, she reached inside, grabbing his boots and yanking his freshly laundered jeans off the hanger. Then she marched back to him, flinging the pants hard at his chest. He caught them reflexively as she resisted the urge to follow up with the boots and instead dumped them on the floor.

Without looking at him, she scooped up her own clothes and headed for the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind her. When she emerged fully dressed a few minutes later, she found Spike lacing up the last tie on his boot. He rose to face her.

Even now, her traitorous body responded to the sight of his bare chest gleaming above the tight-fitting jeans, but she ruthlessly suppressed the emotions he roused and kept her expression carefully blank. He wasn't the only one who could do enigmatic.

"I'm guessing they couldn't salvage your shirt," she said, voice flat as she glanced at the clock on the bedside table. "Dinner should be in about an hour. I'll ask Giles to see that you get a new one before then. You don't have to come down, of course. Doesn't matter. But your friend Illyria will be there." A tinge of bitterness crept in. "I'm sure she'll be more than happy to see you."

She was halfway out the door before Spike's voice stopped her.

"What about—?"

He sounded hesitant now, even subdued. She turned.

"Angel…and Gunn. What happened to them?"

She stared at him for a long moment. "We don't know. We think they got sucked into another dimension. Willow's pretty sure she and the coven have located it. They're preparing a spell to open a portal so we can go after them."

She waited for more, but he simply gazed back at her before giving a slight nod, standing motionless in the middle of the room as she closed the door.

* * *

TBC in Part 9 


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Here's the next installment. Again, hope you like…

**

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**CHAPTER NINE**

Spike had endured some fairly tense Scooby gatherings during his time in Sunnydale, but this one surpassed them all. Buffy had gone out of her way to choose a place at the opposite end of the table from where he sat, which suited him just fine. The further away she was, the better for his peace of mind. Not that he was in any danger of attacking her; he had more self-control than that. Still, the exquisite taste of her lingered in his mind like a siren's call and he needed time to distance himself. He needed a clear head and judgment that wasn't clouded by Buffy's close proximity.

He was still furious that she'd taken such a chance with her life. It shouldn't have surprised him, though. Buffy had always been willing to put it all on the line, especially for the people she cared about. She would have done…hell, she _had_ done…whatever it took to save him.

He wondered if Buffy had given any thought to how devastating it would have been for him had she traded her life for his. Especially if, however unwittingly, _he_ had been the one to kill her.

He had never thought she could do anything he wouldn't forgive. Now, he wasn't so sure.

The conspicuous distance between them hadn't gone unnoticed. Spike had caught Xander stealing not-so-furtive looks at the two of them, while Giles eyed him with steely speculation. Even Blue had seemed to pick up on the unspoken tension. He'd spent the first ten minutes interrupting her just to keep her from commenting on it. Luckily, she'd finally caught on, abandoning the attempt in favor of quiet glowering.

Halfway through the meal, at the request of Rupert, Spike gave them a brief account of his stay in the void, the mysterious being he'd encountered there, and his sudden return to consciousness. It was the same carefully edited version he'd shared with the Watcher after he'd shown up at Spike's door and presented him with a black button-down shirt to wear. There was no love lost between them, but Spike knew if anyone could puzzle out what had happened and why, it would be Rupert.

"A prophecy. Great. Like we haven't had enough of those." Xander shook his head. "So, any idea what she was talking about…or would that be too easy?"

Spike shrugged. "With those mystical types, who knows? Could've just been havin' me on." Spearing a forkful of pot roast, he crammed it into his mouth. As he chewed, he could feel Illyria's laser-beam gaze burning a hole through him but didn't look up.

"I seriously doubt it." Giles frowned. "It would seem a rather elaborate hoax and for what purpose?"

Xander leaned forward, waving his fork to punctuate his words. "_Maybe_ whatever that thing was just didn't want Spike to leave. Must get pretty lonely in a place like that. Not knowing any better, it probably took a shine to what it saw as a hunk of manly goodness and wanted him to stick around. So it tried to use that tired old prophecy line to keep him there."

At their incredulous stares, he shrugged. "Or not."

"I don't see what the big mystery is." Buffy sounded irritated. "It was obviously a bad guy who knew we were close to saving Spike and was trying to stop us. One less champion in the world and all that. We won, it lost, end of story."

Giles looked skeptical. "It would be nice if it were that simple, Buffy, but I hardly think—"

"The Shanshu!"

Spike flinched at the excited Texas twang. Turning, he found "Fred" sitting where Illyria had been. Even though he'd heard about her ability to change, experiencing it firsthand was more than a little disconcerting. The others looked openly shell-shocked, except for Buffy, who sat stone-faced and seemingly unimpressed.

"Fred" smiled at Spike. "It has to be the Shanshu, right? I mean, what else could it be?"

Xander held up his hand. "Excuse me, but…_what the hey_!"

Buffy spoke up, voice flat. "It's okay Xander. Apparently, Illyria can look and sound like Fred whenever she feels like it. I found out earlier this week. I would've mentioned it, but I thought you already knew. Sorry."

"You thought? Don't think. That's bad, okay? Very, very bad!"

Giles gave Buffy a reproving look. "Allow me to echo Xander's sentiment. Assumptions of that nature can be…problematic. Having established that, however, perhaps we can get back to the subject at hand? Which, I believe, has just taken a rather interesting turn." He arched an eyebrow at Fred. "Would you care to elaborate?"

"There's nothin' to elaborate on," Spike said sourly. Though he'd once pursued it doggedly, he now felt perversely reluctant to give the idea any credence. "Blue's just blowin' steam. The prophecy wasn't mine."

"We can't know that for sure," Fred/Illyria insisted. "When Angel was the only vampire with a soul, okay. But then you came along. You gave your life to save the world, and you didn't stop there! All the lives you saved in LA…all the sacrifices you made. You saved me, you saved Charles, you saved Angel. You didn't have to do any of that. You didn't have to follow Angel into that alley, but you did. You didn't expect to survive, but you went anyway. To make a difference. To give Evil a big ol' punch in the eye just because it was the right thing to do. You deserve it, too, Spike…just as much as Angel."

Snorting, he shook his head, but his traitorous gaze sought out Buffy. Brow furrowed, she was staring hard at the faux Fred.

"Deserve what?" she asked. "And what has this got to do with Angel?"

Right. Angel. Count on that to get her attention. Well, bugger it. He might as well get it over with and rip off the plaster with one savage yank.

"You wanna know? Fine. Few years back, a prophecy turned up talkin' about the vampire with a soul. Said he'd help a bunch of people, save the world, and then, if he ate all his veggies, washed behind his ears, and didn't talk back to his mum, he'd get to go to Disneyland and be a real boy again."

Xander frowned. "Disneyland? There's a prophecy about Disneyland?"

"No, the prophecy doesn't say anything about Disneyland," Fred/Illyria assured him. "Spike's just being…Spike. Basically, it says that after the vampire with a soul has helped enough people, he'll be in a big apocalyptic battle and then he'll become human again. You know, like a reward? Everybody thought it was talking about Angel, but then Spike showed up and…" She shrugged, flashing them a brilliant smile.

Spike scowled. "It _is_ about Angel."

"That's not what you were saying before."

"Well, obviously I was wrong. Hello! Still a vampire."

"So? That only means it hasn't happened yet. Who knows? A hundred years from now, you could be lopping off the head of a Balgoth demon and right in the middle of the big battle…poof! You're human. Or, well…most likely _after_ the big battle since turning human when you're taking on a hoard of demons single-handed might be a little inconvenient. I mean, what would be the point? Kind of a waste of a good Shanshu if you get skewered right off the bat."

Leaning over, she playfully poked him in the arm, so like Fred that he couldn't help but smile in fond remembrance until he caught himself. He glanced self-consciously around the table. Giles appeared thoughtful, Xander looked confused, and Buffy…well, he couldn't tell what Buffy was thinking anymore. Somewhere along the line, he'd misplaced his ability to read her. He looked down at his plate.

"All right, Blue, that's enough," he said quietly. "You've told them what Fred knew. Now turn back."

Instantly morphing, Illyria cocked her head. "I have not told them everything. The text was derived from various languages of human and demon origin. The shell was informed it was difficult to translate."

"Fine. _Now_ you've told them. Let's leave it be."

"As you wish."

Xander snorted. "Oh, sure…I get 'Don't mock me, human, or _splat_!' and he gets 'As you wish.' Just tell me, who died and made him the Princess Bride?"

Spike started to give Xander a two-fingered salute but stopped as he spotted the teasing glint in the other's eye. Not sure what to make of that, he turned the gesture into a quick scratch on the forehead. When he looked up again, he found Buffy staring at him with a strange expression he couldn't decipher.

Before he could ponder it further, he heard the faint ringing of a telephone. Giles quickly excused himself and went to answer it. Returning a few moments later, the Watcher's face was grim.

"That was Willow. Due to an unforeseen and apparently extremely rare escalation in trans-dimensional shifts, it seems our window of opportunity for retrieving Angel and Mr. Gunn has narrowed considerably. Once the escalation begins, it will become increasingly difficult to open or maintain a portal of any kind. At its peak, the trans-dimensional walls will be completely impenetrable. Unfortunately, there's no way to accurately estimate how long it will last."

"Are you saying we can't go after Angel?" Xander asked.

"I'm saying that if we are going to attempt this, the portal must be opened immediately. We've no time to waste."

"But what about the gathering of energy? The big _mojo_ the coven needs to do its stuff? Willow said it would take a couple of days but it's only been a few hours."

Giles carefully removed his glasses, squinting as he attacked them with a cleaning cloth. "The portal can be opened at less than full strength, but it may drastically affect the time it can remain open…which was already uncertain at best." Replacing his glasses, he looked at Buffy. "There is another concern. If the portal fails while in transit, those who have not yet made it to the other side will be trapped between inter-dimensional planes, beyond all possible hope of rescue. It's not a fate to be taken lightly."

Buffy's gaze was steady. "Trapped. No rescue. Check. So what say we get this show on the road?"

Xander rose from his chair. "I'm good to go. It's just too bad Vi's gonna miss all the fun."

"I'm afraid you won't be going, Xander." Giles approached the table. "Willow also informed me that in order to have the greatest chance of success, it's necessary to limit the number of people using the portal. Each life form that enters represents an additional drain on the energy field needed to sustain it. Therefore, the rescue party must be a small one."

"No problem." Buffy stood up. "One is all we need."

Spike also found himself on his feet. "Two."

Buffy's gaze hardened as her face took on a mulish expression. "Spike—"

"Not alive," he pointed out. "Won't be a drain on the field, leastways not as much."

"You just woke up from a coma."

"And I'm feelin' fine now."

The "thanks to you" hung silently in the air between them. He just couldn't bring himself to say it, even without an audience. Her mouth tightened.

"I've got as much right as you, Buffy. Maybe more. I was there."

Giles intervened in the budding standoff.

"He's right, Buffy. You'll need someone to watch your back. Illyria is strong, but she could conceivably require more energy from the field. That makes Spike the most logical choice."

Standing motionless, Spike's gaze locked with Buffy's as she stared at him in stony silence. Then…

"Fine. Let's do it. The sooner we find Angel, the happier I'll be." Turning on her heel, she marched out the door.

And Spike realized there was more than one way to stake a vampire's heart.

* * *

TBC in Part 10 


	10. Chapter 10

Whups! I finished this chapter a few months ago, but somehow missed updating the story here. So if anyone is still hanging in there with me, you get two chapters for the price of one! Okay, so it doesn't cost anything. But you still get two chappies. Hope you enjoy!

Since it's been so long since the last chapter was posted, here's a quick and boring recap of what's happened thus far:

Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what that would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway…

CHAPTER TEN

-------------------------

Buffy hit the ground rolling, using the fluid momentum of her entrance to carry her into a standing position. Half a second later, a tumbling blur of black-and-white Spike crashed into her, the impact sending them both toppling into the tall grass.

He grabbed her shoulders as they rolled, legs tangling together. When they came to a halt, she lay sprawled atop him, one leg hiked across his, riding his thigh. Their lips were only a hair's breadth apart as she gazed down into his startled face.

His hard chest lay beneath her hands. Something harder still pressed against her hip. Muscled forearms, bare beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his borrowed shirt, locked together across her back, pressing her to him, holding her in place.

Eyes locked, neither spoke. Then strong hands settled at her waist as he raised his knee, increasing the intimate pressure between her legs. Her hips wriggled involuntarily and with a faint gasp she shifted into place, the extra friction enhancing the tantalizing contact.

The smoldering promise of his heavy-lidded gaze chased away coherent thought. Body responding to the irresistible pull, her lips parted and her hips began to undulate – ever so slightly at first, then bolder, more demanding. His chest rose and fell beneath her hands, nostrils flaring as he sucked in deep, ragged breaths. Her movements picked up speed, steadily building into a raw, primal rhythm that had them both grunting and straining, pushing and pulling, one against the other.

And then she couldn't stand it anymore. Eyes closing, she buried her face against his throat, hips moving frantically, nails digging into his shoulders, breath hitching in deep, knife-like gasps. He jerked beneath her as she sank her teeth into the muscled column of his neck. Jerked even harder as she bore down.

Large hands grabbed the denim-clad globes of her ass, fingers digging in, squeezing, kneading, urging her on. She was lost in sensation, all control given over to the fire between her legs, the smooth flesh under her lips.

Then he said her name and she convulsed in a burst of mind-numbing pleasure, a sweet, hot tide of sensation surging through her, leaving her limp and sated in its wake. But Spike's arms still held her like steel bands and she could feel his arousal firm against her, achingly full and rock-hard with his unspoken need.

Head lifting, she held his gaze, hips pressing down, sliding and rubbing, moving in random patterns that drew more words from him – hot and dark and deliciously obscene. Her hand slipped beneath his shirt, fingers searching out the rough waistband of his jeans and the taut, cool skin beneath. At the same time, she moved to capture his lips with hers and smiled into his mouth as he surged up to meet her, murmuring a non-stop litany that spoke of both his passion and his need.

Her lips traveled higher still, grazing the sharp angle of his cheekbone, brushing over his closed eyelids, and sliding across the hard ridges of his brow. It was that unexpected contact with Spike's vampire visage that cut through the haze of lust and longing that enveloped her.

Abruptly calling to mind exactly where they were. And why.

"Oh, god. Angel," she breathed.

Her eyes widened as Spike went painfully still. The next thing she knew she was sitting on her rump, unceremoniously dumped there as he surged to his feet. She stared up into his closed-off face.

"No! I…I didn't mean it that way." Scrambling up, she reached out to touch him, hold on, draw him back to her. Anything to make him listen. But he sidestepped her grasp and moved away, white-blond hair gleaming like a beacon in the unusually bright light of this dimension's moon. Thanks to Willow's calculations, they'd arrived after nightfall, neatly avoiding the problem of crispy-fried Spike.

She was fast regretting taking that particular precaution.

Frustrated, she watched as he stalked through the knee-high grass, casting about until he finally came up with the weapons bag he'd lost in their tumbling roll.

She tried again. "Spike…"

"Guess we won't be needing these." Glancing up at the abnormally bright moon, he tossed the two flashlights he held back into the bag.

"Would you just—"

"No tellin' north from south here, or which way they might have gone. Best thing to do is follow the moon for a bit, yeah? And not stray too far from the woods over there." He nodded toward a dark line of trees that stood off to one side. "Don't fancy gettin' caught out in the sun if we're still searching come daylight."

His tone was all business, his manner detached, as if talking to a stranger. Buffy bristled. Fine. If that was how he wanted to play it, she could do "detached" with the best of them.

She shrugged but didn't reply.

He stared at her a moment then snorted softly. Ducking his head, he delved into the bag again, this time drawing forth two short swords and a collapsible crossbow. Faster than she could blink he was on his feet and tossing one of the swords to her, hilt first. Her hand flew up, catching it automatically.

Holding up the crossbow, he quirked an eyebrow in silent query. When she shook her head, he shouldered it himself then scooped up the second sword, testing its heft with an experimental swipe.

Seemingly satisfied, he stopped and looked at her, obviously waiting.

Buffy adjusted her grip on the sword, gaze holding his as she moved toward him. She was less than arm's-length away when she broke eye contact and bent to retrieve the weapons bag. While the flashlights had proved unnecessary, the bag itself would come in handy if they had to conceal their weapons.

Straightening, she met his gaze briefly then pivoted to stare at the tall line of trees a short distance away, eyes combing the darkened woods. If such a place could serve as a shelter for Spike then maybe Angel had taken refuge there. It might have been a good place to start the search, but with only two flashlights and no reason for Angel to remain there once the sun went down, she quickly discarded the idea. It would be better to wait. They could always search there tomorrow during the daylight hours, unless they were lucky enough to find Angel and Gunn before then.

That decided, Buffy raised her chin and set out, deliberately ignoring Spike as she charted a course toward the bright orb in the sky. As she went, she gave a wide berth to the open portal, a shimmering bit of air all but invisible against the dark backdrop of the night sky. With luck, it would be just as unnoticeable during the day, provided they were here that long. Before they'd left, Giles had called in the slayers from the training compound as a precaution, stationing them around the portal in case something mean and nasty from this dimension went exploring, intentionally or otherwise.

Only a few steps past the portal, Buffy's boot landed on a bare patch of dirt. Halting, she looked down to discover a rudimentary road of sorts, rutted tracks almost overgrown by the encroaching grass. Off to her left, it was soon swallowed up by the knee-high grass as it followed a course she couldn't make out. To her right, it stretched toward a slight incline off in the distance, struggling upward in a bright trail of moonlight that illuminated the small hill.

She glanced over to find Spike looking at her, eyebrow raised. Since neither was speaking to the other, they chose the upward path by tacit agreement. Spike paused long enough to mark the spot, slashing a notch in the trunk of a small tree so they could find it easily enough upon their return. Then he slipped into place behind her and slightly to one side. It was a familiar formation for them and one she would have found immensely comforting at any other time. But now, as they trudged up the road in mutual stubborn indifference, each step brought Buffy closer and closer to the breaking point.

Five minutes of silence was all she could take.

She whirled to face him. "I wasn't thinking about Angel, all right! Not during the important parts. I just…it suddenly hit me what we were doing. And okay, my timing sucks. But I came to my senses, I said his name, I felt guilty that we forgot about him! That _I_ forgot about him. So if you want to be all broody and bad moody and…and…_stupid_ about it, go ahead! I am not going to apologize for remembering why we came here, so just…get over yourself!"

She started walking again, but only made it a few steps before spinning back around. He hadn't moved.

"And another thing! You owe me."

His head tilted.

"That's right, Mr. I'm-Too-Cool-to-Pick-Up-a-Phone. You owe me _big_ time."

The burgeoning smirk on his face made her itch to slap it off. "Do tell. And what might that be, pet?"

"What the hell do you think? An explanation!" She waved her arms, as if the answer should be obvious. Which it so should have been. "Some reason or excuse why you couldn't pick up the phone and let me know you weren't dead. What? Was I supposed to magically figure it out on my own? Did I fail some kind of secret test because I didn't somehow 'sense' you were still alive? Or…alive again. Whatever. Oh! I know! Maybe I was supposed to beg Willow to make with the dark mojo and bring you back, like she did with me. Is that it?"

The smirk disappeared. "Don't be daft. You know damn well it wasn't anything of the sort." He looked away, then back at her, then off again, rubbing the nape of his neck as he sighed. "Couldn't at first. Bein' a ghost and all. Then later…I had obligations."

"And?"

"And what?"

"In between 'at first' and 'later'…what happened there?"

He still wouldn't meet her eyes. "Wasn't sure you'd want me there." He shrugged. "New life. Fresh start. Figured there wasn't a place for me."

She waited until he snuck a sideways glance at her. "You figured wrong," she said, voice flat. Then turning on her heel, she started walking again. When he appeared at her side, shortening his strides to keep pace with her, she kept her eyes fixed resolutely on the rutted tracks of the road.

But of course Spike never could take a hint.

"Truth is, figured Andrew would have told you. Never really believed the pup would keep his little yap shut about it. Then, when I didn't hear from you, took it as a sign. Either he'd done as I asked, or you didn't want to see me. Either way, it seemed for the best."

Halfway through the dropping of that little bombshell Buffy had halted dead in her tracks, though it apparently took Spike another three or four steps to realize it. When he did, he made a slight backtrack.

She stared at him.

"Buffy?"

His guarded tone barely registered with her.

"_Andrew_ knew?"

"Well…yeah. Was in LA."

"Andrew knew?"

He nodded. "And there was the whole Angel-and-me-comin'-to-Rome thing. He was stayin' in your flat."

"Andrew. Knew."

Spike eyed her warily. "Think you're ever gonna stop sayin' 'Andrew knew' and move on to something else?"

"That little _weasel_."

"Yeah…all right. That'll do."

"I…am going…to kill him," she said, enunciating the words with deadly calm. "Start writing his eulogy 'cause he is so dead."

"Look, Buffy…"

"Does he know about that other thing, too? That sunfooey thing?" She laughed, a harsh brittle sound. "What am I saying? He knows. After all, he's your new bestest friend, right? The one you tell all your secrets to. Him and that blue-haired _ho_." She gave a disgusted snort.

All at once he closed the space between them. "All right, that's enough. What bugaboo's flown up your skirt, eh? Blue's never done anything to you."

Stabbing her short sword in the ground, Buffy placed both hands squarely on her hips. "No, but she's done plenty to you, apparently."

Spike's eyes narrowed as he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Yeah, she has, as a matter of fact. But considerably less than you did. Girl's good, but she hasn't got your style."

Buffy felt her eyes widen before she clamped down on a strong surge of jealousy and hurt. Her chin rose and her tone took on a deadly saccharine sweetness sharpened by an underlying edge. "I'm sure you were more than happy to give her a few pointers. How long before she let you use the handcuffs?"

Spike squinted harder, brow furrowed, as the cold glint in his eyes gave way to confusion. "Wait. What…exactly are we talkin' about here?"

She snorted. "Just don't, okay? Don't try to play innocent."

"I'm not playin' anything! Bloody hell, woman! You are the most—"

Spike broke off, his head jerking toward the dark line of trees. And that's when Buffy heard it. A low rumbling vibrating through the air, building in intensity to a massive crescendo that threatened to burst her eardrums, transforming at the end into a spine-tingling shriek of unholy rage.

And the grass around them burst into flames.

* * *

TBC in Chapter 11 


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Spike was getting bloody tired of dragons. At least, this particular dragon. Especially when it kept trying to kill him. But he couldn't even give it points for persistence since the barmy lizard, which had obviously been sucked through the same portal he had narrowly escaped, probably didn't even realize he was one of the white hats from the alley. It was trying to fry them on general principle alone.

Well, that and it could be dinnertime, too.

A huge, sweeping claw narrowly missed his head as he ducked beneath it to roll between the creature's forelegs, the momentum strong enough to carry him straight out the back end. As he surged to his feet, a quick back flip saved him from being flattened by the lashing tail. Around him, patches of blackened grass smoldered, the flames igniting them thankfully short-lived and not inclined to spread. The last thing they needed on top of everything else was a raging wildfire.

Keeping a wary eye on the beast's tail, Spike danced in and out, looking for his opening. He landed a savage blow with the short sword, but it glanced harmlessly off the industrial-strength scales, no more effective than any of the previous whacks he and Buffy had administered.

Pausing to regroup, Spike spotted his slayer standing beneath the creature doggedly hacking away at the dragon's underbelly, which seemed only marginally less protected than the rest of it. Instead of taking exception to her efforts, the massive beast ignored her, great head lifting to take in the horizon. It was either supremely confident of its own invincibility, or it seriously underestimated the potential threat an irritated vamp and a pissed off slayer posed.

Though Spike was starting to think the dragon's only vulnerable spot might be inside its gullet. Not a theory he was eager to test.

The tail arced around for another swipe at his head.

"Bloody hell!" he roared, not quite nimble enough this time to avoid a glancing blow. It slammed the sword from his hand and sent him tumbling through the grass. Any second he would feel the hot lick of the dragon's fiery breath consuming him, but when he finally rolled to a stop and regained his footing, he found the creature still peering into the distance, as aloof and motionless as the bloody Sphinx.

Already charging back into the fray, Spike's steps faltered and slowed. Something wasn't right. The thing was obviously distracted, but why? What could be more interesting to it than potential dinner?

He got a partial answer as a distant cry reached his ears, faint and higher-pitched than the dragon's roar but no less commanding. It reminded Spike of the shrill caw of a Brignug demon, a creature every bit as vicious as it was large.

And Brignugs were _bloody_ large.

Whatever the thing was, the dragon clearly didn't fancy meeting up with it. Its ponderous head reared back as it unfurled massive wings. Then, with a mighty roar, it rocked back onto its hind legs and launched itself into the air, the sudden rush of wind from the takeoff knocking vampire and slayer to the ground. They scrambled up in unison and stood together, eyes following the beast as it banked sharply and retraced its previous flight path over the woods, great wings beating against the night sky.

They continued to stand silently, watching until the creature had vanished beyond the treetops, before turning to look at each other.

"Okay, did I miss something here? Did we just win and I didn't notice?"

Spike pivoted to search the opposite horizon, scanning the moonlit landscape for some sign of the thing he'd heard. "Somethin' spooked it. Whatever it was that made that sound."

Buffy cocked her head. "What sound? All I heard was the dragon." He didn't answer, and she moved to stand beside him. "Do you still hear it?"

"No. Smell somethin'. Just a whiff. Don't think it's close, but I can't say for sure."

"What do you think it is?"

With a slow head swivel, Spike gave her an incredulous look. "Think you're as likely to know as I am, slayer. Care to venture a guess?"

She grimaced. "Something that scares a fire-breathing dragon the size of a house? I'm thinking it's not gonna be Big Bird."

He arched an eyebrow and waited.

"It's the…different levels," she offered. "Of dimensions? Like _Sesame Street_ vs. _Dawn of the Dead_? Willow said…"

He must have looked as lost as he felt because she trailed off, shrugging self-consciously. "Never mind. Kind of had to be there."

"Yeah, alright. So…something big and probably very nasty is lurkin' out there in the dark and we don't know what it is." He smirked at her. The tussle with the dragon had made him a bit nostalgic. He couldn't resist asking. "Want to find out?"

Buffy frowned, stooping to pick up the dropped sword as she brushed herself off. "Spike, we don't have time to be playing with the local flora and fauna. Our portal's got an expiration date, remember?" She nodded in the direction they'd been heading before the dragon's untimely appearance.

"Yeah, I know." Shrugging, he moved to retrieve his own weapons even as he sighed for lost opportunities. "Come on then, Dorothy. Let's hit the Yellow Brick Road and find our missin' munchkins."

They hadn't traveled very far at all before Buffy broke the silence.

"You should have told me." Her face was turned away from him, her voice so quiet he almost didn't hear her. "Seriously. Afraid or not. You should have told me. How did letting me think you were dead all this time seem like even _remotely_ a good idea? I know you, Spike. There had to be more to it."

Spike, tempted to point out that he _was_ dead, stopped. Buffy deserved better than some lame attempt to sidestep the question.

"Couldn't at first. On account of bein' a ghost and all. Don't know if Blue told you, but when I first came back I had a slight tangibility problem. Was a bit corporeally challenged until some mysterious bit of hocus-pocus made me a semi-real boy again. Then later…had obligations."

"Obligations." Her rigid back and bunched shoulders made his fingers long to ease away the tension. But he kept his hands to himself. "Yeah. Know all about those. I should be happy for you, that you found something there. But strangely enough, I'm not."

Her voice was flat. She kept walking and didn't look back.

* * *

Almost two hours later, they stood at the top of a long ridge looking down at a small village. It lay nestled along a meandering river that snaked past a thick stand of trees that loomed on the opposite side. A series of rough-hewn docks lined the river's edge, playing host to boats of all shapes and sizes as they rocked quietly in their rustic berths.

A high-arching wooden bridge spanned a narrow bend of the river, linking the village to the woods on the other side. A human-shaped form apparently stood guard at the center of the bridge, but it was too dark and the figure too far away to make out any details. Flickering light shone through a lone window here and there, but most of the village seemed bedded down for the night. The road Buffy and Spike had been following zigzagged down the side of the ridge, eventually entering the village and reappearing at the opposite end of town before vanishing into a distant grove of trees.

The wind changed direction for a few seconds, strong gusts whipping Buffy's hair around her shoulders. She could have sworn it carried the faint strains of a lively tune coming from somewhere below, but it shifted again and the music was gone. A quick sideways glance at Spike failed to reveal if he'd heard it, too. She wasn't about to ask.

Over the past hour or so, they had covered a fair amount of ground in relative silence. As the rush brought on by their mini-battle had waned, so had the conversation. Not that there'd been much to begin with. After she'd left Spike with her little bombshell, he'd subsided into a kind of guarded watchfulness that gradually crawled under her skin. It was different from the quiet melancholy that had plagued him when she'd first brought him out of the high school basement. This felt like a flood of words and recriminations were pressing against his tight-lipped frown, ready to come spilling forth the second he opened his mouth.

But he didn't.

What was all that about anyway? She deserved it, right? After what she'd said to him. And since when had Spike been anything less than vocal about his grievances? About anything? Since when was he unwilling to take a risk to get what he wanted? To lay his heart on the line even if it was sure to get stomped on? Since when would he choose duty and honor over…her? This new Spike was irritating and unnerving and just all kinds of wrong. If he didn't snap out of it soon, she'd be tempted to slug him. Or kiss him. Or both.

But all of those options would have to wait now. This was the first sign of non-demon life they'd found and it was entirely possible Angel was down there somewhere. Possible, but just how likely?

"Could it really be that easy?" she wondered aloud.

Spike snorted. "If by easy you mean jumpin' blind through a swirly portal that feels like it's turning your innards into your outtards, gettin' up-close-and-too-bloody personal with an armor-plated dragon, almost gettin' ourselves flambéed, not to mention trying to decide which god-forsaken rock in this whole sodding dimension we should look under first, then yeah. Maybe."

Buffy ignored the mini rant, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the scene below. But she trembled a bit when he shifted and his bare forearm brushed against hers.

And of course he noticed her response, damn him, tiny as it was. His voice, pitched low, sounded softly in her ear. "Feeling all tingly, are we?"

She pulled away, looking at him askance. "What?"

He stared back. "Angel? Slayer radar? Got the tinglies?"

Buffy blinked and swallowed. "Oh. No…no tinglies. Totally tingle-free." She turned her gaze back to the village below, relieved to break eye contact.

"Yeah, well…expect we're a bit far off for that. Still…" He sighed. "So what's the plan then?"

She took a deep breath, firming up her resolve before meeting his waiting gaze. "We split up. You take the left side, I'll take the right. See if we can spot any sign of Angel and Gunn. And we'd better keep a low profile. Like, _really_ low, in case the locals have six heads or something." She glanced back down the hill. "This place isn't that big. Let's say an hour, then we meet back at the edge of town."

"Right. Shall we synchronize our watches then?"

"That's a good—" Buffy stopped, frowned. "Spike. We don't have watches."

"My point exactly."

She rolled her eyes. "Just cover your half. We'll meet back at the road into town when we're done."

Fortunately, they had no trouble entering the village undetected. Buffy had to wonder why a guard would be stationed on the river bridge while the rest of the town was left exposed. Though that question went unanswered, a second mystery was solved not long after she and Spike split up. Thanks to a near run-in with a drunken villager staggering through the darkened streets, she now knew this dimension's inhabitants were pretty interchangeable with those of her own. At least if she and Spike were spotted, they wouldn't stand out that much.

Scratch that. _She_ wouldn't stand out that much. Spike, of course, drew attention wherever he went. If not for his striking appearance, then for his sheer propensity to attract trouble.

Buffy had smiled wryly at the thought, but her amusement vanished the instant the drunk had plopped himself down on a wooden bench barely more than an arm's length from where she had taken cover. She'd lost a lot of time crouched behind a waist-high stone wall, waiting to see if he would pass out or continue on his way. But just as Buffy was debating the wisdom of vaulting over the wall and sending him off to dreamland herself, the sound of loud snoring reached her ears and she was once again on the hunt.

Almost an hour later, she'd found no sign of Angel or Gunn and her slayer radar remained dishearteningly silent. The only real excitement she'd encountered was a strange wailing sound that had suddenly filled the air. It had seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere but lasted only a second or two. Buffy had stopped and waited, fingers gripping the hilt of her sword a little more firmly. After a tense few moments, nothing else was heard and she had cautiously moved on.

Now, with no more than two or three streets left to check, she could only hope Spike was having better luck. If not, they'd be forced to seek shelter for the day while deciding on their next move.

Reaching the end of the street, Buffy halted, hands resting against one of the stucco-like buildings that made up the town. She leaned forward and peered around the corner to make certain no unwelcome surprises lay in wait.

"Buffy…"

She froze.

Across from her, in the dark mouth of a narrow alleyway she'd somehow overlooked, stood a featureless figure. But she didn't have to see his face to recognize the vampire she had come here to rescue.

"Angel?"

* * *

Spike halted at the junction of streets, jaw clenching as he looked around. He'd already wasted more time than he should have pacing back and forth at the spot where he and Buffy were supposed to meet up. Finally, worried that something had happened, he'd let out a growl and charged back into town, determined to find her.

He definitely felt antsy here. Had ever since the two of them had split up. Despite the obvious differences in look and locale, there was something about the place that reminded him of that small village in the Balkans where he and Dru had once spent a tense fortnight waiting for Darla and Angelus to return from one of their unexplained side trips. Never had found out what the two of them were about, but he and Drusilla had never been invited along, and the one time he'd tried to follow had…well, ended badly.

In the Balkans, the superstitious villagers had made their lives hell. They'd been suspicious of strangers and overly watchful, and the size of the village had made it impossible for any resident to vanish without causing an uproar. Needless to say, there'd been a lot of lost feeding time to make up for once they'd finally moved on.

Here, in this small burg, Spike felt the same kind of oppressive heaviness in the air, a sense of expectant wariness, though nothing around him stirred. He felt hemmed in, almost claustrophobic, and itchy to be away from the town's environs as fast as possible.

Something bad was going to happen here. If it hadn't already.

Gritting his teeth even harder, Spike closed his eyes. He raised his face to the slight breeze that stirred the night air, took a deep whiff, and followed his nose.

* * *

Holding her breath, Buffy watched as the figure remained motionless for several beats. Then long strides ate up the space between them.

"Buffy… god, you're here."

Strong arms reached out for her and without even thinking she found herself moving into them. Her own circled his waist, her cheek pressing hard against his chest as she returned the embrace with relieved ferocity. Her enthusiasm was enough to elicit a muffled grunt.

Loosening her hold, she tilted her head back to gaze into Angel's face as she thumped him lightly on the chest. "No fair," she complained. "I was supposed to find _you_."

He smiled. "You did. I just happened to see you first." Then sobering, he stared at her. "I knew you'd come."

His hand brushed her face and the next thing she knew he was kissing her. And she was kissing him back. And thoughts were swirling around in her head, like how long it had been since they'd first done this and how much had happened between then and now and how she still missed him but somehow it wasn't the same. Couldn't be the same. And she knew with perfect clarity why it never would be again. Then one thought surfaced, supplanting all of the others.

She pulled away, her shocked gaze locked with his.

"Oh my god…you're…"

"Human, yeah." A huge smile blossomed across his face. "I was wondering how long it would take. For you to figure it out, I mean. Kind of thought you'd notice how I was able to sneak up on you, but hey…sometimes I still don't believe it myself. Isn't it great?"

She was swept up in another massive hug. When he finally released her, his eyes were sparkling, his manner playful and teasing. So different from the Angel she remembered.

"You're really…I don't…how…?" Buffy's voice trailed off. She couldn't think straight. And had apparently lost the ability to form a complete sentence.

Angel laughed, his words coming fast and furious. "You think _you're_ surprised? It was pretty much the last thing I expected, for more reasons than you'd think. I gotta admit, it takes a little getting used to. I mean, I'm working on a killer tan and my diet's a lot less limited than it used to be, but I kind of miss the whole super-strength thing and the enhanced senses and all. I keep forgetting to carry a weapon around. Really have to stop doing that," he muttered to himself, then his eyes were focused on her again.

"Didn't even know you were out here till I saw you. I only came out because I heard a Vorgnar demon howling. Came through the portal the same time we did. Their voices travel a long way so it's probably off in the woods somewhere, but I figured, hey…better safe than sorry. And now I'm _definitely_ not sorry." Then he surprised her by swooping in for another enthusiastic kiss.

"Vorgnar…?" Buffy asked, as soon as she could end the kiss. Damn. Still all incoherent-y, not to mention lagging significantly behind in the conversation.

"Yeah. Mean. Ugly. Sort of like…Spike."

Buffy blinked. Then she noticed the direction of Angel's gaze and her brain slammed into gear. With a terrible sense of déjà vu, she whirled around. Only this time, she was aware of his presence. This time, she could see the raw anger in his chiseled features, read the veiled hurt and betrayal in those stormy blue eyes. But worst of all, was the strong sense of resignation radiating from every line of his motionless form.

Before she could react, he spoke.

"Angel. Good to see you're still in one piece. Was worried you might not have made it."

_Huh?_

"Yeah. You're okay, too, I see." Angel's smile, which had vanished when he'd said Spike's name, returned full force. "Guess I've had worse news."

Buffy frowned as Spike nodded in return.

"Don't mean to spoil the reunion, but we're workin' on a deadline here. Where's Gunn?"

Angel jerked his head toward a large building that loomed behind him. "Inside. Sleeping. I'm human now."

Buffy thought she detected the tiniest twitch in Spike's jaw.

"I noticed." He looked away. "Best go wake up sleeping beauty so we can all get the hell out of here, yeah? Got better things to do than hang around waitin' for the sun to come up." He turned back, finally meeting her gaze. "Tell you what…I'll go on ahead, make sure the way is clear."

And before she realized it, he was suiting action to words, striding back the same way he must have come. Away. Away from her. His voice drifted back over his shoulder.

"When you two are finished celebrating, grab Charlie and meet me on the road out of town. Just don't tarry too long, eh? Might have to leave without you."

Then she lost sight of him as he vanished around a corner.

* * *

Spike figured he'd made better exits in his life, but at the moment speed was more important to him than style. Though he'd managed to hold it together pretty well, he wasn't certain how much longer he could keep the anger at bay. As genuinely glad as he was to find Angel and Gunn alive and well, seeing the old man standing there in front of him, all human and Buffy-having, was a little bit more than he could be expected to bear. Right now, he wanted nothing better than to find a convenient demon to dismember.

Bonus points if it could be something Angel-shaped.

Spike consoled himself with the assurance that he'd done a pretty good job hiding his pain. He'd struggled hard not to give too much away. Buffy, on the other hand, had been all too easy to read, thoughts and emotions flitting across that expressive, beautiful face. Shocked surprise had been followed in rapid succession by dismay and guilt. Spike hadn't waited for the apologetic pity sure to come next. Instead, he'd decided to put some distance between them. Give them all a little time so that when they finally met up again, they could pretend they weren't caught up in one big soap opera parody.

And he could pretend it didn't matter that once again he was second best.

He remembered a time when he wouldn't have cared if they'd seen his anger or tasted his anguish. He would have reveled in the telling of it, howling his grief into the night sky, pouring his outrage into a roundhouse punch and an all-out brawl. But that was before the soul. Now, he handled disappointment in a different way.

And it tasted like ashes.

Or…dirt, maybe. Possibly because he was suddenly lying flat on his face in the middle of the road, a familiar weight pressing down against his back. As warm breath caressed his neck and a golden strand of hair tickled his nose, he felt her lean down to whisper in his ear.

"Stupid vampire. Take one more step and I _swear_ I will so stake your ass…"

* * *

TBC in Chapter 12 


	12. Chapter 12

AUTHOR'S NOTE: It's been a while since the last update. Many apologies for how long it's taking to finish this story, but rest assured it _will_ be finished. It's the only thing I'm working on and though I may be slow, I am persistent. I hate leaving things undone. Right now, I'm thinking there are 3-4 chapters left and I've already started on the next one. Updates can also be found at my Live Journal account, annapurna­2 through the link in my author's profile.

In the meantime, for those who've forgotten where we left off and who don't want to go back and re-read the last 11 chapters all over again, here's a synopsis of the story so far:

Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what that would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway.

Shortly after arriving in the alternate dimension, the two of them get a little…um…distracted. Then Buffy says something stupid and Spike says something stupid and…well, think you can see where this is heading. And then things really heat up...literally...when that pesky NFA dragon shows up. But that's nothing compared to what happens once Buffy finally tracks down Angel. It's _deja vu_ with the Angel kissage, though Buffy's heart isn't in that relationship anymore. But good luck convincing Spike of that when he sees them and storms off...

* * *

CHAPTER TWELVE

Buffy tightened her grip as Spike tensed beneath her, determined not to let him toss her off. Ever since he'd come out of his mystically induced coma, or whatever the hell it had been, they'd done nothing except butt heads and she was getting damned tired of it.

No more. She'd make him listen, make him talk to her, and she wouldn't let anything he might say get to her. This time she'd keep a tight rein on her temper. She'd be cool, collected Buffy, relentlessly calm and oh-so-rational.

She would. Really.

Cradling his hips in a vise-like grip between her thighs, she spoke low and urgently into his ear. "I know it looked bad, but it's not what you're thinking. So just stop being an ass and _talk_ to me, okay?"

He responded with a long, drawn-out growl that rumbled deep in his chest, but aside from that Spike remained stubbornly mute. Only half of his face was visible to her. The other side was pressed against the ground, somewhat dampening the full effect of the glare she knew would be leveled at her once she climbed off his back and let him up. Anger literally vibrated through every taut muscle in his body.

She sighed. "You're going to make this really hard, aren't you? Fine. You listen. I'll talk."

Only she didn't, because clearly she didn't know the magic words. She thought she'd figured it out, down on the Hellmouth when the Great Light Bulb of Epiphany had suddenly clicked on. Too late to do either of them any good. Then, miraculously, she'd gained a second chance and had earnestly poured out her heart to her stubborn Sleeping Beauty. Now she had him back.

Except…not. The first time he hadn't believed her, and the second time he'd been unconscious. He hadn't heard a word, but it obviously wouldn't have mattered if he had. Spike still couldn't accept that she loved him, and the stupid Angel kissage he'd just witnessed pretty much sealed the deal.

So what could she possibly say to make everything right again when things had never been right to begin with?

It shouldn't have, but it took her by surprise when Spike suddenly bucked beneath her, sending her sliding sideways as he twisted around to break her hold. He surged to his feet, all deadly grace and piercing eyes, but that momentary advantage didn't last.

Moving faster than she ever had, Buffy jumped him again and they tumbled to the ground. This time, they were nose-to-nose and chest-to-chest. No more wiggle room for him to escape. No way to ignore the very obvious physical effect their tussle was having on him.

Good to know at least some things never changed. But it went both ways, and it was rapidly becoming apparent to her that Spike wasn't the only one feeling all hot and bothered. In fact, things were getting all muddled in her head. It was hard to concentrate on what she needed to say when all she wanted to do was...

"Get off."

She blinked. Oh. He meant…

"I said. Get. Off." His jaw was clenched so tightly she could barely see his lips move. If she'd been a vampire, he could have dusted her with his glare.

Dusted. Wait a minute. The Great Light Bulb of Epiphany clicked on again.

"Would you kill Drusilla for me?"

If Buffy hadn't grabbed his attention already, she definitely had it now. She sat up but otherwise stayed put. Spike followed her, as much as his position allowed, and propped himself up with his elbows.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

She answered his wary look with a steady gaze. "If Drusilla came walking down that street, would you kill her? You offered to do that once, to prove you loved me. Would you still do it?"

Spike's head tilted and his eyes narrowed. "What are you playin' at, Buffy?"

"Just making a point. We both know you wouldn't kill Drusilla just because I asked you to do it. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't have done it back then either. Not when it came right down to it. She's important to you, Spike. She means something. As much as I may not like it, that's never going to change."

In the silence between them lay things Buffy knew neither of them was quite willing to say out loud. Then Spike sighed.

"You're not talking about me and Dru. You mean Angel, and what he is to you."

She stared into his eyes, willing him to see. "He'll always be important to me. You have to know that. But it doesn't mean—"

"That you can't care about me, too. Yeah, got that part." He returned her gaze, suddenly cool and frighteningly remote. "Difference is, pet, when it came down to it, I made a choice and never looked back. Reckon you can't say as much."

With a strangled cry of frustration, Buffy rolled off of him and surged to her feet. "God, Spike, why can't you listen? Why can't you _hear_ me?" She moved away, hands curling into impotent fists as she swung back to face him.

He still lay on the ground, his hair slightly mussed and a telltale bulge straining against the black denim of his pants. He should have looked smaller without his leather coat. He wasn't a big man. He just carried himself that way. His larger-than-life attitude tended to make people forget any lack of stature. That, and the way his habitual black T-shirt outlined a deliciously muscled chest and biceps. But even in his borrowed button-down shirt, Spike filled Buffy's vision till she couldn't see anything else.

He didn't seem in any hurry to answer her, taking his time getting to his feet. "I heard you, Buffy. Back then." Standing now, Spike faced her, shoulders back and legs apart, as if bracing himself for a physical blow. "I did what you wanted. What you asked me for all those times. I finally let go."

She stared at him.

"What I--? Spike, that was ages ago! We were different people then and it was all so messed up. Did I _ask_ you to let go…our last months together? Is that what you heard on the Hellmouth? Because that's _not_ what I was saying."

Angry and a little bit desperate now, Buffy moved closer. Had he really let go? Is that why he'd seemed to accept Angel kissing her…why he believed that she'd been kissing him back? Which she _so_ had not. Not the second time anyway. The first time had just…well, like she'd tried to explain, she still cared about Angel. Still loved him, though not in the same way she once had. And despite what Spike insisted, Buffy was willing to bet that he wouldn't be Mr. Totally Indifferent if Drusilla tried hard enough to fan those old flames.

Not that he would consider hooking up with his crazy ex again. She was pretty certain of that. But there would always be something there, and she couldn't be jealous of it. Not really, because she understood how impossible it was to ignore. So why didn't he?

"I know what you were sayin', Buffy. What you were trying to do. But let's stop pretending, all right? We found Angel. He's human now -- footloose and curse-free. All yours. Changes things, doesn't it? So go on." He waved a hand toward the street where she'd left Angel standing. "Trot on back to the pillock and put us all out of our bloody misery. Make him the happiest ex-vamp in the world, just like you always wanted."

She scowled at him. "Well, you got one thing right. That _was_ what I wanted. But, hello! Past tense!" Eyes narrowing, she folded her arms and raised her chin in silent challenge. "I think the real question here is what _you_ want."

He gaped at her. "What _I_ want?" Throwing his head back, he barked out a harsh laugh then swung into his familiar caged-animal pacing. "That's bloody rich! Doesn't matter what I want because I'm never gonna get it, am I?"

"I don't know, Spike!" She gestured helplessly. "Maybe if you told me what it is, I could give you an answer. I used to know, but everything's changed. You were back for a whole year but you never told me. And don't kid yourself – you knew it would matter. You didn't come, and you didn't call, and you didn't write. You even told Andrew not to say anything. So why don't you tell me? Why don't _you_ put us out of our 'bloody misery' and just _tell_ me what you want?"

He whirled to confront her. "I want to be _first_, all right? I want to stop followin' in sainted Angel's bloody footsteps. Just _once_ I want somethin' he hasn't had! The women I love. The friends I made. The shining, glorious destiny. Even the sodding amulet! They were all his first!" Fists clenched, he let out a frustrated growl. Then his head fell forward and his shoulders slumped. "Reckon they still are," he whispered.

A pang shot through Buffy at the weary hopelessness in his voice.

"I don't want to be the consolation prize anymore. I want something that belongs to me. Just me."

And that's when she realized Spike was right. He would never get what he wanted. Not from her.

It was a bitter truth that hurt more than she could have imagined.

* * *

Spike waited, but for once he'd left the slayer speechless. And why not? It was true, wasn't it? Not her fault. Just was. Nothing she could say would make it any different.

Despite that certainty, he raised his head a bit, slanting a sideways look at her. He caught her staring blankly at the ground, brow furrowed, but then her gaze suddenly shifted to lock with his. She shook her head as a hint of something flitted across her face – an emotion he couldn't quite read.

"Spike…I wish I could give you that. You don't know how much I wish. But I can't. It's too late, and there are people in my life that I can't…that I won't give up. They'll always have a part of me, just like I have a part of them. Even when they're gone."

Her voice caught on the last word, but then her shoulders straightened and her eyes filled with resolve. "I can't help what I felt for Angel, or the fact that I met him first. That I loved him before I ever knew you. I can't help that it took so long to figure out what I felt for you was real and right. And I can't change how confused I was or how much we hurt each other."

As much as Spike wanted to tune out the painful litany of regrets, to close his eyes to what he knew would come next, he couldn't. And when Buffy crossed to him and raised a hand to caress his cheek, he was helpless to look away.

"I can't change the past, but I know what I want now. What I need." Large and luminous eyes willed him to believe. "You, Spike. Just you. That's all I've wanted for a long time, only I thought it was too late. It looked bad back there…I see that. But I told you, it didn't mean what you're thinking. Not for me. I know you didn't believe me before when I told you how I felt. That was my fault, and I'm sorry. But you have to believe it now. I love you, Spike. You're who I want to be with. The one-and-only, real deal, accept-no-substitutes." She smiled softly. "You're my guy."

Staring at her, Spike tried to process the words. He should have been elated. Should have been crowing or crying or something. But looking at her now, all he could see was a flash of golden hair across a crowded dance floor. The sofa in her Italian flat where she'd snuggled with The Immortal the way she'd never snuggled with him, until those last few nights together. Even then it had been more about what he could give her than what they could give each other.

He couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Yeah? That why you were shaggin' The Immortal cross-eyed? 'Cause you were missin' me so much?"

For an instant, her eyes widened. Then her gaze went flat and cold. "You know, for some reason I can't figure out, I keep forgetting just how big an asshole you can be."

And that was about the time everything Buffy had said to him finally sank in. That's also when it dawned on Spike that his accusation, eating at him ever since the ill-fated trip to Rome, could have been a little better timed. "Buffy, I--"

"Forget it." She cut him off. "My mistake. Just like always."

"Buffy, no. Please…" He tried to keep her from turning away, but she evaded his grip and raised a hand to ward him off.

"Don't. Just…don't. I can't talk to you right now."

Spike sighed. "I'm an idiot, love, all right? I just--"

"Can't help yourself?" A familiar voice finished the sentence for him.

It didn't take long to spot the source. It was Angel, of course, arms folded, leaning against the side of a building. Buffy looked as surprised as Spike felt. Neither of them had detected Angel's approach.

"I should probably say I'm sorry for interrupting, but…really not. You're just lucky you stopped in the middle of the, uh…well, I guess you could call it the business district. Otherwise you'd have quite an audience right about now."

His tone was neutral, and Spike couldn't tell how much he'd heard, if anything. He was still trying to suss it out when Angel pushed away from the building, all business now.

"Look, things are different here. When the sun comes up, it comes up fast. As in, you might catch a glimpse of it before you go poof. I saw it happen to a couple of vamps that came through the portal with us. And it stays up for what we'd consider a couple of days, so deadline or no deadline, I wouldn't count on going anywhere soon." His veiled gaze traveled from Spike to Buffy. "There's room for both of you in the tavern. It's where I work…me and Gunn. There's plenty of food and a place to sleep. You can take shelter there while we figure things out."

Spike was just on the verge of demanding what "things" – how they would make it back to the portal before it closed or some other _thing_ – but Buffy spoke up.

"Poof, huh?" She glared at Spike, her gaze hard and accusing. "And that would be bad why?"

He met her eyes for a beat then looked away. Okay, he knew how badly he'd fucked up. Again. But in front of Angel, it more than stung.

Angel snorted. "There was a time you wouldn't have heard any arguments from me. But you know, no matter how crazy he makes us, you have to admit he keeps things…interesting." His gaze flicked back to Spike. "Stupid, but interesting."

Then Angel raised a hand, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder. "I wasn't kidding about the sun. We need to get a move on." Then he promptly suited action to words, striding back the way they had come.

Spike glanced at Buffy, who now seemed determined not to look at him. Without a word, she headed after Angel. Spike noticed there was no sign of her sword or the weapons bag. She'd probably dropped them while she and Angel had been busy snogging.

"Come on, Spike." Even from a distance he could detect the note of impatience creeping into Angel's voice. "I've got a bet to collect. Gunn thought nobody would be coming after us. Can't wait to see the look on his face when he realizes he's got to pay up."

As the other two disappeared around a curve, Spike made no move to follow. He felt wrung out, like he'd just stepped off the Roller Coaster Ride from Hell. He couldn't think, couldn't move.

A few seconds passed, then he shook it off with a low growl. Scooping up his dropped weapons, he gripped the sword hilt and shouldered the crossbow, casting a wary eye at the still-dark sky. Another moment of indecision passed before he moved to trail reluctantly after the now-vanished Buffy and Angel.

As wild as things had been since he was snatched away from that last stand in the alley, something told Spike he hadn't seen anything yet.

* * *

TBC 


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Many apologies for the long delay since the last update. Between work and some pesky health issues, there hasn't been much time for writing. But this story will be finished and I'm already at work on the next chapter. If you're still along for the ride…yay! Many, many thanks.

And to refresh your memory, so you don't have to go back and read the earlier chapters…

**SYNOPSIS:** Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what _that_ would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway.

Shortly after arriving in the alternate dimension, the two get a little…um…distracted. Then Buffy says something stupid and Spike says something stupid and…well, I think you can see where this is heading. And then things really heat up...literally...when that pesky NFA dragon shows up. But that's nothing compared to what happens once Buffy finally tracks down Angel. It's deja vu with the Angel kissage, though Buffy's heart isn't in that relationship anymore. But good luck convincing Spike of that when he sees them and storms off. So this time it's Buffy who's chasing after Spike, but that doesn't work out so well, and now they're at a bit of a stalemate…

* * *

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

A loud peal of laughter assailed Buffy's ears, threatening yet again to draw her gaze to the far corner of the dining hall. It was the largest and busiest room in the sizeable tavern where Angel and Gunn had taken up residence, though it was mostly empty now. The early morning breakfast rush had ended, leaving the four dimensional interlopers little to focus on but each other.

Except, as far as _some_ people were concerned, she and Angel might as well have ceased to exist.

Buffy grimaced into the plate of half-eaten food she'd been toying with for the past half hour or more, gritting her teeth as she refused yet again to sneak a quick peek. Gunn's hearty laughter had sounded nonstop ever since he and Spike had settled in for their little catch-up session, excluding her and Angel more by oversight, perhaps, than design. Nonetheless, Buffy felt decidedly fifth-wheelish and she didn't care for it one bit. She suspected Angel didn't either.

To be brutally honest, it was a little disorienting not being the center of attention for a change. And while she didn't really begrudge Spike his unexpected camaraderie with someone who wasn't…well…her, she also couldn't help being a bit disgruntled by the whole situation.

Here she sat, trapped in a Bizarro World where Spike was suddenly Mr. Popularity and the one thing she'd once wanted most in all the world sat right across the table from her, presumably hers for the asking, if she so chose.

Which, it turned out, she didn't.

God, she was so fucked up.

Lifting her head, Buffy sighed, determined gaze deliberately sliding past Angel's as she stared over his shoulder, studying the anonymous back of a lone traveler hunched over a nearby table. Her run-in with the drunken villager the previous night had revealed that the inhabitants of this dimension were human in appearance, indistinguishable from Spike, Angel or herself except for their homespun clothing and chocolate-colored skin. Still, despite their humanoid similarities, all three of them stood out here like neon lights in a pitch-black room.

Gunn, however, was a different story. He fit right in, not so much because of his skin color as the easy way he wore the native clothing and the way he seemed comfortably at home in this foreign environment.

Not like Angel, Buffy noticed, who still clung to what he must have been wearing when he was sucked through the portal. His LA clothing showed obvious signs of wear and constant repair, to the point where he looked strangely frayed, just one step above a well-dressed beggar. Even without his lighter skin, he would've felt out of place. Gunn had clearly settled in, choosing to make a life here, but Angel had remained a visitor.

A well-liked visitor, though, judging by the warm treatment he received from villagers stopping in for a morning meal or early liquid refreshment, not to mention the travelers who lodged in the rented rooms upstairs. Throughout the course of the morning, Buffy had a chance to observe the new Angel in action -- laughing, joking, seemingly content even as he held himself apart. It was an odd contradiction but one that seemed to work for all involved.

Too bad she couldn't say as much for her own situation.

After the frustrating confrontation with Spike, Buffy had returned to the spot where she'd first encountered Angel. By the time she'd retrieved the abandoned sword and weapons bag, an unusually subdued Spike had caught up with them. She'd ignored him, turning instead to follow Angel through the door of the tavern and leaving Spike to trail along behind.

As they'd entered the tavern's dining area, Buffy had spied an older couple and two young women prepping for what turned out to be the breakfast rush. The older woman had halted, quickly wiping her hands on the apron fastened around her plump waist.

"Angel-_kushla_, there you are. The wood is running low. Quickly now, before my _besmin_ comes to a boil." Spotting Buffy and Spike behind him, she stopped, cocking her head as she regarded them in a birdlike fashion. "We have new travelers, I see. From far away. As far as your land, I think. These are your people, _kushla_, yes?"

"These are my people, yes." Angel nodded, smiling at the woman. "They came here looking for us – me and Gunn."

At the soft gasp behind her, Buffy turned to find one of the two younger women in the room staring at her, eyes large and stricken. She was small and slender, with thick black hair pulled back in a loose bun. When their gazes locked, the girl's expression turned accusing. Before Buffy could even blink she'd whirled around and vanished into what had to be the kitchen. The mouthwatering smells emanating from that direction were a dead giveaway.

Frowning, Buffy shrugged off the girl's strange reaction, at the same time mentally admonishing her rudely growling stomach to mind its manners. Then she turned her attention to the third woman in the room. This one was slightly older than the other girl, maybe by as much as five years, with longer hair that fell in glorious waves almost to her waist. The shorter ends curled softly around shapely shoulders, framing a face that could only be described as stunning. Though her dress was modest, it couldn't hide the voluptuous curves that all but screamed "buxom barmaid," nor did it detract from her large, dark eyes and full, sensuous lips.

Even Buffy could appreciate how striking the woman was, but that grudging admiration died a swift death the moment she realized those alluring eyes were fixed squarely on one person in the room – Spike. The predatory gleam in her gaze caused Buffy to glower, even more so when Super Slut threw back her shoulders, thrusting those generous breasts forward in a brazen bid for Spike's attention.

Which Buffy had no doubt they were getting, in spades. She could already picture him in her mind's eye, head tilted, lips curved in that slow, sexy smirk she knew so well. She didn't look behind her to check. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his ogling. Not after what he'd said to her.

Or…not so much _what_ he'd said, but when. After everything they'd been through, she'd finally found the courage to declare her undying love, straight out. To offer up her heart and soul and make herself vulnerable in a way that had never come easily to her. And Spike had thrown it all back in her face with that stinging taunt about The Immortal.

How the hell did Spike even know about Paulo, anyway? That traitorous dweeb Andrew must have told him.

Spike knew how much his rejection had to hurt. She'd done it enough times to him during those dark days in Sunnydale. A part of Buffy couldn't blame him for giving her a taste of her own medicine. For wanting to get back at her, just a little. But it only proved that they hadn't come nearly as far as she'd hoped. Maybe they never would.

Maybe, it really was too late for them.

She shoved the thought away, rejecting despair in favor of feeding her anger. Why did Spike have to be so hardheaded, and why did his timing always suck? And, okay, yeah…she had a history with Angel that was hard for him to ignore, but she'd tried her best to explain all that to him. His constant insecurity, even in the face of her open declaration, was really starting to grate.

Didn't matter. The Cleveland hellmouth could freeze over before she'd make the next move. Let the local trollop set her sights on Spike. She'd be cool as a cucumber.

Unless the ho had the nerve to actually touch him, and then Buffy would have to kill her.

A door in the back of the room flew open, bringing homicidal thoughts to a screeching halt as a tall black man appeared in the opening, his arms weighed down with a load of firewood.

"Noticed you were about out of cooking wood, Reema. Thought I'd take care of it for you seeing as that lazy, good-for-nothin' roommate of mine was too busy chasing after wild vorgnars to take care of his chores."

Gunn flashed Angel a wicked grin then halted, eyes widening. His smirk vanished, replaced by a look that could only be described as dumbstruck, as his gaze left Angel's face, passed almost a foot over her head and zeroed in on Spike still standing quietly behind her. Then the grin was back, only about a hundred times more brilliant. Without a word, he dumped the wood on the nearest table and pushed past both Angel and Buffy to envelope Spike in a massive bear hug. The two embraced, in a manly sort of way, all hearty backslapping and big smiles.

"Blondie Bear, my man!" Gunn pulled back, clapping the vampire on the shoulder as Spike grimaced briefly before returning the grin. "Thought for sure those bad boy demons had done you in, but I must have been wrong 'cause here you are just as solid and sorry lookin' as the last time I saw you. Damn, but it's good to set eyes on your ugly mug!"

"Prettier than yours, Charlie boy." Spike retorted, gripping Gunn's forearms to mirror the hold the larger man had on him. "And I'm not the one who was bleedin' his guts out all over the concrete. Reckon it's you who shouldn't be here. Can't say as I'm surprised though. Don't think I came all this way just for Angel, do you? Knew you were too stubborn to kick it."

Gunn responded with a rueful smile. "Came pretty close to doing just that. Lucky for me, they have some kick-ass healers around here with some pretty strong _mojo_. Not to mention, some of the best-looking nursemaids you ever did see." He turned his head to wink at the older woman, the one he'd called Reema, who stood next to a silent man Buffy assumed was her husband.

Reema wagged her finger at Gunn as she giggled like a teenager. "You are a very brash man, Charlie-_kushla_. I don't know why I put up with you. Probably because my Tondor forgets to say such pretty things to me now that we are both old and gray." She turned a mock glare on the big man standing beside her. Taller than Angel, he looked every bit as taciturn as the ex-vampire had when he'd first come to Sunnydale, and Buffy instantly pegged him as the strong, silent type.

Until a gleam appeared in his eyes and his arm circled his wife's shoulders. Leaning down, he whispered something into her ear that Buffy didn't catch, but whatever he'd said was enough to send Reema into another giggling fit as she raised her apron to cover a blushing face.

The good-natured teasing continued as Buffy and Spike were officially introduced to the family that had taken in Angel and Gunn. They learned that Tondor had come across the two unconscious men on his journey back from a neighboring village. Lifting them onto the bed of his wagon, he'd transported them straight to the _Lupwa_, a trio of aging healers who practiced their art in a small compound just inside the big woods. But as skilled as they were in the healing arts, it had taken more than herbs and powdered concoctions to save Gunn's life. The mortal wound he'd suffered had required magical intervention.

"We're lucky the _Lupwa_ are as good at casting spells as they are at stitching up cuts and making poultices." Angel explained some time later as he and Buffy sat together before the dining hall's massive hearth. Spike and Gunn had retreated to a far corner of the room for some male bonding, enjoying the ample breakfast Reema had insisted on serving them. Buffy, without much of an appetite, had politely accepted a plate. But instead of joining Spike and Gunn, she and Angel had moved to a small seating area where he was quickly bringing her up to speed.

"It's not something they do a lot, though. Magic, I mean. More of a last resort kind of thing. To them, magic is a sacred trust that can only be used to save a life. Anything else is considered blasphemous."

"In that case, I'm guessing you didn't ask for their help in getting back home."

Angel responded with a faint smile. "Good guess. It wouldn't have been fair to put them in that position. Not after everything they did for us. Besides, I knew you'd show up here sooner or later. Spike, too, if he made it out of that alley. Which I figured he would. Even when he dies, he's too stubborn to stay that way."

Too stubborn to stay dead and too…something…to let her know. Buffy glanced away. "Yeah. So it seems."

Tired of going round and round in her head wondering exactly where she stood with Spike, Buffy told that nagging inner voice to take a hike and instead let her gaze wander. It didn't take long to zero in on the younger woman who had previously fled into the kitchen. She now stood in the open doorway, hands planted on her hips as she glared belligerently at Buffy.

Buffy glared back. What, exactly, was Little Miss Sunshine's problem anyway?

"It's Gunn."

She looked at Angel, whose gaze had followed hers. "Huh?"

"It's not me she…" He leaned closer, eyes searching her face. "Meesa knows you've come to take us back. She's fine with me leaving, but Gunn…not so much. She's probably wishing you out of existence right now. She can't though. Wish you away or anything. No magic powers."

"Oh." Buffy smiled faintly. "That's a relief. Guess I can't blame her. It hurts. Being the one left behind." She let her gaze lock briefly with Angel's before finally giving in and seeking out Spike's bleached-blond head. "Or left in the dark."

A fresh burst of raucous laughter punctuated her words. She watched Gunn's shoulders shake with the force of his mirth as Spike leaned back in his seat, regarding the taller man with genuine amusement and what looked suspiciously like affection.

It was odd seeing Spike so at ease, so unguarded and open. Buffy had never known him like that and it sparked a pang of envy so strong it took her breath away, leaving her with a dull, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach. She'd never observed Spike with a male friend before. With any friend, really, outside of Clem, who technically qualified, but still…

It was a concept she had a hard time wrapping her head around. Hardly surprising under the circumstances. It felt like she'd been stuck in a constant state of confusion ever since she'd learned Spike was alive.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy turned back to Angel. "So what's up with the everybody-speaking-English thing around here?" Though she could still see Spike out of the corner of her eye, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on the man across from her. "Just listening to them, you'd never know we weren't in Kansas anymore, except for that _kush_-thingie Reema kept saying."

"_Kushla_. It means 'dear one,' or…close enough."

Buffy nodded. "Good to know. Did you teach them?"

"What?"

She gave him a look. "English."

"Oh. No."

"Then how come they're speaking it?"

"Don't know. They just do. They always do. Pretty much every dimension I've been in. I guess it's a thing."

"A thing?"

"Yeah, one of those things you can't explain. It just is."

"Oh. One of _those_ things."

"Yeah. One of those."

They both fell silent. Then Buffy forced a smile.

"Is it me, or did this conversation just turn wicked awkward?" Angel looked down, staring at his clasped hands, and Buffy sighed. "Yeah. Thought so. How much did you hear?"

For a moment, she thought he wouldn't say anything at all. Then he cleared his throat and met her searching gaze.

"Enough to know you've decided to come out of the oven."

"Oh." She'd figured as much, though she really hadn't wanted him to find out that way.

"Yeah." He shook his head. "You and Spike."

"Yeah. Me and Spike."

"You…love him?"

She nodded slowly, despite the fact his gaze was fixed on something across the room. "Really do."

Angel was silent for a moment. Then he looked at her. "You told him that."

Buffy sighed and nodded again. "Too late, I think. I keep telling him and he keeps not believing it." She shrugged, looking down. "Not that you can really blame him. I didn't say anything until about five seconds before he died. Now I've got a second chance and I _still_ can't get it right." Slumping forward in her chair, Buffy covered her face with her hands, trying to rub away some of the tiredness in her eyes. "I totally suck at this whole love thing, you know?"

When nothing but silence greeted this observation, it suddenly struck Buffy – the complete inappropriateness of what she doing. She lifted her head to meet Angel's veiled gaze, instantly contrite. "Angel…I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot. There's no way I should be talking about this with you." She thumped the tabletop with a balled fist. "God, could I _get_ more self-involved? Why can't I just—?"

"Buffy. It's okay." Angel placed a calming hand over her fist.

She searched his face then shook her head, biting her lip. "Thanks. But it's not."

His lips curved in a faint smile. "No," he agreed. "But I can deal."

"I didn't mean to mislead you. Really. When we talked that last time. I just didn't realize…"

"Buffy. It's okay. You don't have to say it. The second you took off after him I knew. And if that idiot grandchild of mine wasn't so damned hard-headed, he'd know it, too."

"Angel, I'm sorry. Really."

"Don't be. We had our time. It didn't work out. Nobody's fault."

His voice was low and steady, but she could see the sadness in his eyes. Buffy leaned forward, her gaze never leaving his. "You'll always matter to me. You know that, right?"

He gave her a faint smile. "I know. But let's…not talk about it anymore. Okay?"

Buffy's eyes filled with tears. "Okay." She glanced away, giving them both time to recover. When she turned back, his face was composed, brown eyes regarding her but giving nothing away.

"So. Human. That must be…I can only imagine what you must have felt."

He nodded. "There aren't any words, really. I knew it as soon as I woke up. The difference was…" He trailed off then gave a short laugh. "Took me a while to calm down. Tondor thought he'd rescued a crazy man. He and Reema were sure the fever had addled my brain. I kept running around yelling 'Shanshu!' and hugging people."

Buffy couldn't help but smile at the unlikely image until something he'd said struck a faint chord of familiarity. "Wait…fever?"

"Yeah. I was unconscious for a few days. Ran a pretty high fever. Tondor tried to get the _Lupwa_ to magic me awake, but they wouldn't do it. Said there were higher forces at work and it would be wrong to interfere. Had to let the process run its course. Good thing, huh? Who knows what would have happened if they'd tried to bring me around too soon."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed faintly, a cold lump settling in the pit of her stomach. Her stricken gaze sought out the blond vampire across the room.

At that exact moment Spike looked up, as if sensing something, brilliant blue eyes locking with hers. His head tilted and his expression sobered. He was clearly caught off guard by the distress he must have read on her face.

"It might have ruined everything," she whispered.

* * *

TBC 


	14. Chapter 14

Author's Note: Many apologies for taking so long to update, but life continues to be hectic

Author's Note: Many apologies for taking so long to update, but life continues to be hectic. In hopes of making it up to you, I've got two chapters for the price of one. Heh. And to refresh your memory so you don't have to go back and read the earlier chapters…

SYNOPSIS: Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what _that_ would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway.

Shortly after arriving in the alternate dimension, the two get a little…um…distracted. Then Buffy says something stupid and Spike says something stupid and…well, I think you can see where this is heading. And then things really heat up...literally...when that pesky NFA dragon shows up. But that's nothing compared to what happens once Buffy finally tracks down Angel. It's deja vu with the Angel kissage, though Buffy's heart isn't in that relationship anymore. But good luck convincing Spike of that when he sees them and storms off. So this time it's Buffy who's chasing after Spike, but that doesn't work out so well, and now they find themselves at a bit of a stalemate.

In the meantime, daylight strands them at an inn and tavern (since Spike and sunshine aren't mixy things) where a newly shanshued Angel and a fully recovered Gunn have been living for months with a local family. While Spike catches up with Gunn, Angel and Buffy have a long heart-to-heart. Angel realizes Buffy loves Spike and wants a future with him. And Buffy realizes the mysterious coma Spike was in was actually part of the Shanshu process and that her attempts to wake him up have prevented him from becoming human, as Angel did.

Now Buffy's feeling a wee bit guilty…

* * *

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

--

Spike had a plan.

Or not so much a plan, really. More like a resolve to corner Buffy and find out what had caused the stricken expression he'd seen on her face. She'd been talking to Angel at the time. That alone could explain it, but something inside Spike knew better.

He could taste it, feel it. Whatever lay behind her distress, it centered on him. And the quickest way to suss out the problem was to confront her about it head on.

But, as with most things involving the slayer, he'd managed to bollox up even something that simple. In the intervening hours, Buffy had scaled new heights in avoidance tactics, cementing his belief that her reluctance to talk to him stemmed from much more than lingering anger over his earlier thoughtless outburst.

He resisted the urge to bash a hole through the nearest wall. Barely. An eye-blink away from catching her and she'd slipped through his grasp again, this time disappearing into the overheated kitchen where preparations for the upcoming lunch rush were under way.

A bit strange, that, since according to Gunn lunch was a good six hours off. But apparently the sun wasn't the only thing on a different schedule in this dimension. Not that Spike really cared how often the locals slept or filled their bellies. If it wasn't blonde, petite and determined to drive him stark staring mad with frustration, he wasn't interested.

A shuttered window at the end of the hall caught his eye, filtered sunlight spilling through small cracks in the weathered wood. Edging up to the shutter, Spike nudged it open a bit, careful to keep his hand out of the light. As long as the back end of the building had even a sliver of shade to shield him, he could whip out the side door and make it around to the kitchen's other point of entry. Buffy would never see him coming.

A familiar sardonic voice stopped him cold.

"Bad idea, Spike. Trying to corner her, I mean. Unless I'm wrong and you've just got a hankering to take a stroll in the sun. In that case, hey…be my guest."

Turning, Spike aimed a scorching glare at the last person he wanted to see right now, hoping his slight twitch of surprise would be mistaken for…well…anything that didn't admit a human Angel had managed to sneak up on him. By taking unfair advantage of his temporary preoccupation, of course.

The sight of his grandsire, casually leaning against the wall with arms crossed in a bloody I-shanshued-and-you-didn't pose, did nothing to improve Spike's sour mood.

"Care to be more specific?" he asked tersely.

Though his question sparked a twinge of déjà vu, Spike ignored it. This wasn't a rain-darkened alley and they weren't facing certain death at the hands of a marauding demon horde. This was something far more serious and he didn't have any bloody time to waste.

Angel looked mildly amused. "Thought I was pretty clear."

Spike rolled his eyes. "I'm not talkin' about what you think might or might not be a good idea, you bloody idiot. I'm asking what upset her."

"Besides you?" Angel pushed away from the wall, shaking his head as he approached. Though he looked as smug and superior as ever, Spike noticed he stopped just out of easy punching range. "I got nothin'."

Spike regarded him skeptically. "Yeah? What were you talkin' about then, just before she bolted? Had to be something."

"Nothing that would have caused that kind of reaction." Angel shrugged. "She asked about the shanshu. I told her how it came about. The change damn near killed me, but thanks to—"

"Bloody hell." Forget the wall, he'd just bash a hole through Angel's dense head instead. "Are you really that daft? You stupid pillock! You tell her you came close to snuffin' it for real and forever and you wonder why she got upset?"

"I'm standing here alive, moron! Buffy knows I didn't die. She's not the type to get worked up over what could have happened but didn't. That's more your style…King of the Drama Queens."

To think he'd been relieved to find the great twat alive and well. Lucky _that_ feeling hadn't lasted long. "Oh, that's rich!" he sneered. "Speakin' of drama, what was that about you and a dragon?"

Angel glowered. "This is about Buffy, not us. Do you think you can focus your tiny mind and stay on topic for five seconds, or is that too much to ask?"

In a flash, he was in Angel's face. "Want a topic? Fair enough. Let's discuss what a lovely hole your head is going to make when I shove it through that wall."

"Not even on your best day, Spike!"

"_Oooh_, should I be scared? You're all shanshued up, remember? You really think you could stop me?"

"Try it, and find out, birdbrain!"

"Maybe I will, you stupid git!"

"Great! So why don't you stop yammering and get on with it!"

"Why don't _you_ stop tellin' me what to do! You're not the head of Wolfram and Bloody Hart anymore, you know. I'll do it when I'm bloody good an' ready and not a sodding minute sooner!"

Breathing heavily, they glared at each other, each poised to land the first blow. Then Angel's tense posture relaxed, and he sighed.

"We really don't have time for this. Look, Spike…whatever's bothering Buffy, it hit her pretty hard. I was hoping you might know something that could help. You're not the only one who cares about her."

"Well, how would I know? Wasn't the one talkin' to her, now was I?" The words were defensive, but Spike's tone was subdued. His earlier conviction that he was somehow to blame returned full force. But figuring out what to do about it wasn't so easy.

Angel answered him with a steady gaze. "Neither one of us has a great track record when it comes to handling Buffy. I'm just saying, don't crowd her, okay? Whatever it is—"

"Whatever it _is_ made her turn white as the proverbial bloody sheet, didn't it?" Spike looked at Angel scornfully. "I've made a lot of stupid mistakes with Buffy since I woke up from that mystical coma. But I know better than to leave her be when she's gone off about something. Girl's got a way of taking things on herself that don't belong there. You should know, same as me."

"Spike."

"When you were with her back in Sunnydale, what did you do when she got notions?" "Shrug your shoulders and shake that enormous head of yours?" he asked sarcastically.

"_Spike_."

"Did you tell her she was too hard on herself and just expect her to see reason? Is that your idea of settin' her straight? Reckon _that_ did a lot of bloody good!"

"Spike!"

"What!"

"If you won't let it go, then at least let me be the one to talk to her."

Spike stared at him. "Oh, right. Brilliant thought. I'll just toddle off and leave her to Mr. Brooding is My Favorite Pastime, shall I? Or do they call you the King of Non-Communication now?"

Instead of taking the bait, Angel surprised him. "Maybe I'm not the greatest choice," he conceded, his voice calm. "But my guess is, whatever's upsetting her, it's got something to do with you. And I don't mean the fight you had earlier. If I'm right, then which one of us do you think Buffy's more likely to open up to about it?"

Spike frowned. "You're not foolin' anyone, you know. You just want—"

"Damn it, Spike!" Angel stopped short. Spike watched as he took a deep breath then let it go. "What I want is for Buffy to be okay. So do you. Now do we stand here playing dog-with-a-bone for the rest of the day, or do we try to help her?"

He hated it when Angel made sense. "Just don't make her cry." It was the closest thing to a concession he was willing to give, though it came out more petulantly than he would have liked.

"I'm not going to make her cry," Angel shot back through gritted teeth.

"Have plenty of times before."

"Well I'm not going to now! Could you just _once_ not make things harder than they have to be? Why I ever worried about you, I'll never know! You're too damn hardheaded to die. I should've enjoyed the peace and quiet while I had a chance, because I _knew_ it wasn't going to last!"

The rant probably wouldn't have ended there, but Spike's uncharacteristic silence must have registered on Angel. He stopped, eying Spike warily. "What?"

"You were worried about me?"

Angel blinked. "What? No! I wasn't…I _wondered_ about you. Is what I said. Not worried. Like I would. That's crazy."

Spike sniffed. "Wouldn't worry about you, either."

"Fine."

"Good."

A beat of silence.

"Good."

"I said that already, you git."

When Angel strolled into the kitchen and offered her a tour of the village, Buffy latched onto his arm and dragged him out the door before he could even finish the invitation. She'd welcome anything that got her away from Spike and his relentless attempts to catch her alone. She couldn't face that yet, couldn't deal with the guilt or acknowledge the fact that sooner or later she'd have to tell him what she'd done.

Or what she _hadn't_ done, like allow him to claim the ultimate reward he'd battled so hard to earn. And she knew exactly how hard he'd fought for it, thanks to Gunn, who had told her all about the big showdown between Spike and Angel. And how, according to Angel, Spike had won because he wanted it more than Angel had. And wasn't it ironic how it all worked out, with Angel getting the shanshu after all, even though there'd been a time when Gunn and Wesley had started to wonder.

Yep. For now, at least, she was all about being Avoidy Girl.

Now, as they made their way along the crowded streets, Buffy realized news of her arrival had spread. Though the natives were too polite to openly gawk, she intercepted more than a few curious glances.

She also caught on fairly quickly that Angel was more interested in reaching a particular destination than he was in pointing out the local landmarks. Buffy thought briefly about questioning him, asking where they were headed and why he looked so grim, but honestly? She welcomed the distraction. As long as she could puzzle over this, she could hold at bay that other, more distressing development.

A few minutes later, they reached the edge of the village. Silently, Angel led her down a winding path that took them to a secluded area along the river's edge. Once there, they settled beneath a large tree, its fuzzy-leafed branches extending out over the slow-moving water.

That's when Angel got to the point.

"Are you gonna tell me?"

"No."

He stared at her. "No. Just like that? You're not even going to pretend you don't know what I'm talking about?" He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Damn it. Spike was right. It must be big."

"I'm not doing this, Angel. So just don't, okay?"

"Buffy, I want to help. Whatever it is."

"I know you do, but you can't. So don't try."

"But if—"

"Angel, please. I need you not to do this. It's not an apocalypse and it's nothing life-threatening. It's something I have to handle on my own, and I will. I'll even tell you, eventually. But not now. Right now, you'll help me most by leaving it alone."

They sat quietly for several moments, staring wordlessly out at the river. Then Angel's head fell back as he released a loud gust of pent-up breath.

"I seriously can't believe I'm saying this, let alone repeating it, but Spike was right again, damn it. Here I am, letting you off the hook. You can bet you wouldn't catch _him_ respecting your wishes and taking no for an answer. Hell, if nothing else, he'd irritate it out of you."

When Buffy didn't respond, he turned to look at her. "I don't suppose it would do any good to tell you that, whatever it is, you're being too hard on yourself?"

She bit her lip and looked away.

"Great." Angel shook his head. "And he's three for three. Can someone just kill me now?"

TBC in Chapter 15


	15. Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

* * *

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

--

After a long and awkward silence, it was Angel who finally broke it.

"You know, Gunn's really gonna hate it that you found us." He made the observation with a crooked smile. "Once he remembers what it actually means."

Buffy relaxed a bit, welcoming the change in subject. She forced herself to push past the angst that had overtaken her since finding out about Spike's interrupted Shanshu, trying for something that resembled normal conversation. "It means he gets to go home?" She gave him a quizzical look.

"Well, that, yeah. But it also means he has to pay up first." Angel's faint smile morphed into a wicked grin. "On our bet. He didn't think anyone would ever find us here. Was sure we'd be here the rest of our lives. I knew you'd come. And Spike, if he wasn't dust."

Buffy nodded slowly. "And that payment would be…?"

"Sorry." He shook his head. "Don't want to spoil the surprise. But let's just say if you've ever had a hankering to see Gilbert & Sullivan's _Three Little Maids_ performed on a tabletop smack in the middle of the tavern's lunch rush? You're in for a real treat."

"_Oookay_. Not really sure what that is, but something tells me it comes with an extra helping of humiliation on the side."

Angel shrugged innocently. "Hey, the bet wasn't _my_ idea. I just set the stakes. And I only thought about it because Wesley…"

As Angel's voice trailed away and the light in his eyes dimmed, Buffy was reminded of what Willow had told her about the friendship between Angel and the former watcher. "Because Wesley…?" she prompted gently.

Angel glanced down. "Nothing. He just caught Gunn at it once. Singing. Said he was pretty good, actually."

The silence returned. This time, Buffy was the one who finally broke it.

"Angel?"

He met her gaze, and she was struck by the overwhelming loss she saw in his eyes.

"I'm really sorry about Wesley. I know he was important to you."

"Yeah." He smiled weakly. "It's funny. He was so clueless in Sunnydale, but after he came to LA, he changed a lot. You wouldn't have known him. And he wasn't just my friend, either. He was my Giles." He frowned. "Except…not in that whole surrogate father/daughter way. But the rest…yeah."

Buffy nodded. "So you got the idea from Wesley." She kept her tone soft but matter of fact. She knew from first-hand experience that offering any further sympathy would be like poking at a raw wound.

He nodded.

"Something tells me he would be loving this."

Angel's face lit up with a full-blown smile and he actually laughed. "Oh, yeah. He'd be all over it. Trust me."

They seemed to have made it out of land-mine territory in one piece – a big relief to her, and no doubt Angel felt the same.

"And if you'd lost instead of Gunn?"

He actually squirmed in his seat, or would have, if he hadn't been sitting on the ground. "Yeah, uh…hey! I meant to ask…how long did you say it's been since we got sucked through the portal? Because it's been a lot longer here, you know. Wouldn't it be funny if we ended up getting back there before you'd even left?"

"Angel."

"I know, I know. It's not really possible. Or, I guess it is, but then you've got that whole time paradox thing going on and that stuff always gives me a headache. And who needs the aggravation, right? But still, back there I bet it's been less than a second or two since you came through to this side."

"You're ducking the question."

He sighed. "I was afraid you'd notice. Mandy."

"Mandy?" Had she heard him right?

"Yes! Mandy! Okay? I like it! I like Barry Manilow! I'm not ashamed of it. The man's a musical genius, only people today are too…" He trailed off, eyeing her with an expression that verged on petulance. "I don't know why everybody thinks it's so funny."

"You were going to sing it?"

"You think it's funny, too," he accused.

"No! I…think it's…I'm sure it would've been lovely. I've never heard you sing."

"I don't do it much. It's…kind of a private thing."

"I understand. Maybe you could…sometime?"

He looked up. "Really? You mean…yeah. I guess I could. Sure. If you think you'd like it."

"Can't imagine I wouldn't. I bet you're really good." Buffy smiled at him reassuringly.

He shrugged.

"Lorne said he's heard worse."

"Lorne?"

He smiled faintly. "A friend. He was a demon, but he helped us fight the good fight."

"Did he…?"

"No. He's okay. I think." He was silent a moment. "I'm sure he's fine."

"Maybe you can look him up when you get back."

"Maybe." After another long pause, he continued. "Spike did, too. Help us fight the good fight. I gotta tell you, I wasn't happy about it when he first showed up. For one thing, he was a ghost and he had this annoying habit of popping up in all the wrong places. You couldn't keep him out and you couldn't shut him up. And you sure as hell couldn't strangle him no matter how much you wanted to. And I wanted to, believe me."

She didn't want to ask, but she couldn't stop herself.

"Gunn told me about the fight you had. After Spike stopped being all go-throughy, I mean. Over that thing…that Shanshu thing. He really…he really wanted it?"

Angel didn't her answer at first. Then he nodded slowly.

"Yeah. He wanted it. I think that's when I started to trust the change in him. The Spike I knew never would've wanted to be human. Sure as hell wouldn't have fought to get his soul back. That Spike didn't care about being a hero. Just wanted everybody to know how bad he was." Angel shrugged. "At first I thought he wanted it because it was mine. Because it was something he could take away from me. And maybe to impress you, too."

"But now you don't?" She found it hard to get out the words.

"Now I think…it went deeper than that. Like it would mean he was finally good enough. That he was…forgiven."

Neither one of them said anything for a long time. Buffy's gaze locked onto her hands, twisted together in her lap, as her mind and emotions swirled in a million different directions. Behind a thick dam of hard-won control, tears threatened.

"Is that what it means to you?" she finally whispered.

His answer was slow in coming. "I don't know. I don't know what it means."

Looking up, she found Angel's eyes focused on a non-existent horizon. His gaze was contemplative, but he no longer seemed haunted by the air of sad resignation that had once been such an undeniable part of him.

"But it makes me happy."

And the dam broke.

TBC in Chapter 16


	16. Chapter 16

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Author's Note: Don't be like shocked or anything, but I squeezed out some writing time and came up with another chapter of Marking Time. I know! What's up with that? Three chapters posted in barely over a month? You'd think we were actually getting somewhere. Heh.

And just guesstimating? I'd say it will take about 4 more chapters or so to wrap things up. Not quite heading down the home stretch yet, but close. Whee!

As with the last two chapters, I'm foregoing asking the fabulous pennydrdful to exercise her outstanding beta skills. With my current work schedule, I've got to post them as I can. They'll be the lesser for lack of her input, but I'll do my best not to disappoint.

Speaking of my lovely part-time job, I have to post and run. I'll try to check in later tonight. In the meantime, hope you like! If you've forgotten what's going on and missed the last two chappies, you can find a synopsis at the beginning of Chapter 14.

Btw, please excuse the extra chapter heading (if it's showing up). For some reason, it adds it when I upload and I can't seem to delete it or anything else in the document. Weird.

Now on with the show…

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

"So?"

Spike stepped out of the shadows of the inn's large hall, moving toward the rustic staircase that had just taken a noticeably red-eyed Buffy up to the sanctuary of her room. He looked at Angel, who stood motionless at the base, shoulders slumped.

Angel shook his head. "I don't have any answers."

"Right. Let me guess." His voice jumped to a high falsetto. "'I don't want to talk about it, Angel.'" Then dropped to a deep, goofy-sounding tone. "'Whatever you say, Buffy. I'm a useless wanker with bad hair and mush for brains, anyway, so it wouldn't do any good to confide in me. Just try not to be too hard on yourself.'"

Spike spotted the telltale twitch in Angel's jaw, but the big lummox didn't move. Instead, he gazed up the staircase as if he could still see Buffy retreating up the steps. "I'm not gonna do this with you." His voice held a warning, which Spike, of course, ignored.

"Because it happened just the way I said it would, didn't it? You let her put you off and you made her cry. Don't deny it. Saw her face. I should just rip your head off and get it over with, but I don't have the time. Now move your sorry _arse_. If you can't get to the bottom of things, I will." He pushed past Angel, taking the steps two at a time.

"It's the Shanshu."

Angel said it so softly that even with vampiric senses Spike almost didn't hear. Then it sank in.

"The Shan—" He stopped and turned, looking down at Angel. "What about it?"

"She asked about it. I think…I think she's sorry it happened. To me, I mean. I think she wanted it for you."

Spike's boots clunked heavily on each step as he slowly descended, eyes fixed on Angel's face. "Why would…" He swallowed hard. "I mean, where'd you get a daft notion like that? Did she say…?" He left the question hanging.

Angel waved it away. "It's not what she said. It's how she reacted. She talked about it a little…how Gunn told her you wanted it. But the rest…" A look flashed across Angel's face, there and gone so fast that most people wouldn't have noticed. Spike wasn't most people. Whatever Buffy had said, however she'd reacted, it had tarnished Angel's shiny new Shanshu. To think that his now-human status was the cause of Buffy's distress really hit him where it hurt.

Spike glanced away. "Think you're off on this one."

"You weren't there, Spike. You didn't see how she was."

"Why would Buffy be upset over—"

This time it was Angel getting in Spike's face, made easier by the latter's slightly elevated position on the stairs. "Every time I think you can't possibly be a bigger idiot, you go and surprise me! She _wants_ you, moron, and she wants you human so you can have the picket fence and the fat grandbabies and all the other things that go along with it. Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

If he'd had a functioning heart, it would have pounded its way right out of his chest. "She tell you this?"

"She doesn't have to. I know Buffy. She wants to be normal. Do all the things The Slayer never could. Only now, she's not the only one. Now, she's got a chance to have that life she could never have before. With you, much as it galls me to say it." Angel's heated gaze shifted to the banister where his clenched fist rested. "But then she can't, can she? Because you didn't get the Shanshu."

Spike stared at him. Then in a blink he was sprinting back up the stairs. He was surprised when Angel's hand closed around his arm, jerking him to a halt. He wouldn't have thought a human Angel could move that fast. Instead of breaking the hold, as he easily could have done, Spike let the force of his momentum swing him around to face his grandsire.

"Sod off, Angel!"

"You can't go up there right now."

"Try and stop me!"

"Spike! If you love her, _really_ love her, you'll back off and give her some time. Wait till she's ready to tell you this herself."

"Why?" he shot back. "You think if I wait long enough she'll come to her senses and change her mind?"

"God, I wish she would." Angel glared at him. "But I don't think it's going to happen."

Meeting Angel's hard stare, Spike wanted more than anything to believe that. But the single-minded determination that had propelled him up the stairs was already fading, and he found himself left with the same doubts that had plagued him since he'd first materialized in Angel's office.

Even with the still-fresh memory of Buffy standing in the middle of the street pouring out her heart to him, there was a stubborn part of Spike's psyche that remained unconvinced. The insecure William side couldn't help but wonder…what if Buffy wasn't as certain as she'd seemed? What if Angel was wrong?

She'd called him "her guy" and insisted he was the one she wanted to be with, but after spending time with Angel again perhaps she'd realized her mistake. Unlike most, Spike had never believed Buffy would be satisfied with a "normal" life. What if it wasn't a human Spike she wanted, but a vampire Angel? Could it be she was actually mourning the loss of a little monster in her man?

He glared down at Angel's hand still wrapped around his bicep. "If you're plannin' on keepin' that, suggest you remove it."

"Consider it yours, if that's what it takes to stop you from hurting Buffy more than you have already."

Neither one moved. Then Spike rolled his eyes. "Now you're playin' dirty."

"Like you wouldn't? Look, I know asking you to be patient is like asking a snowman in hell not to melt, but do it anyway. For Buffy."

Spike huffed, but before he could decide whether to capitulate or make good on his threat, another voice cut through their stalemate.

"Well, lookee here, if it ain't Fred and Ethel together again. What's up, dawgs?" Gunn stood in the doorway.

Angel dropped Spike's arm as if it were a snake that had hissed at him. "Just…catching up."

Gunn's eyebrow rose. "Or something." Then his expression turned grave. "Kayneg just rode into town. He spotted smoke coming from the south. Looks like raiders hit Gonock's farm, and we figure they're heading over to Brindig's place next. Tondor's saddling up the hemoths now. Gotta hustle."

Spike frowned. "Raiders? The demons you told me about that came through the portal with you? Thought you ran them off with their tails tucked between their legs."

Gunn nodded. "Literally, in some cases. But looks like they're back."

"Bloody wankers. Wish I could come with you."

Gunn shrugged. "Can't be helped." He glanced up the stairs. "What about Buffy? She up for a little slayer-style R&R?"

Angel looked torn. Or maybe constipated. Spike wasn't sure.

"She's…not feeling well. It's better if we don't bother her right now." He glared at Spike.

Spike didn't even try to look innocent. "You run along now. Mustn't keep the nice raiders waiting. I'll hold down the fort."

"Spike, I mean it," Angel growled.

"Just give it a rest, will you? You made your point."

Though Angel looked a little less tense, he didn't seem entirely convinced. Nevertheless, he silently followed Gunn to retrieve their swords. Then both men hurried out the door, leaving Spike alone in the hall.

He waited till the count of five before turning back to the stairs.

"Said he made his point," Spike informed no one in particular. "Didn't say I was going to take it."

TBC in Chapter 17


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Once again, please forgive the long delay between updates. We are, however, sooo close to the end of Marking Time that I can almost taste it. I hope to eke out every second I can to finally bring this puppy home. Maybe shorter chapters, so I can get them posted more often. Keep your fingers crossed, 'kay?

Now, in case you need a refresher so you don't have to go back and re-read the earlier chapters…

SYNOPSIS: Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what that would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway.

Shortly after arriving in the alternate dimension, the two get a little…um…distracted. Then Buffy says something stupid and Spike says something stupid and…well, I think you can see where this is heading. And then things really heat up...literally...when that pesky NFA dragon shows up. But that's nothing compared to what happens once Buffy finally tracks down Angel. It's deja vu with the Angel kissage, though Buffy's heart isn't in that relationship anymore. But good luck convincing Spike of that when he sees them and storms off. So this time it's Buffy who's chasing after Spike, but that doesn't work out so well, and now they find themselves at a bit of a stalemate.

In the meantime, daylight strands them at an inn and tavern (since Spike and sunshine aren't mixy things) where a newly shanshued Angel and a fully recovered Gunn have been living for months with a local family. While Spike catches up with Gunn, Angel and Buffy have a long heart-to-heart. Angel realizes Buffy loves Spike and wants a future with him. And Buffy realizes the mysterious coma Spike was in was actually part of the Shanshu process and that her attempts to wake him up have prevented him from becoming human, as Angel did.

Now Buffy's feeling a wee bit guilty and is avoiding Spike, who knows something is up but isn't having much luck cornering his slayer. Angel thinks Buffy wants a human Spike. Spike thinks Buffy wants a vampire Angel. Buffy dreads having to tell Spike that he's lost his Shanshu.

Now Angel and Gunn are heading out to hunt down a band of demon raiders, leaving the way open for a long-overdue discussion between our two hard-headed blondes…

* * *

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Buffy pressed her forehead against the window to get a better view of the large kitchen yard spread out below. The innkeepers' elder daughter, Nareetha, was hard at work milking what apparently passed for a cow in this dimension. It was slightly smaller than its California counterpart and kind of bumpy-looking, too – like the worst case of acne she'd ever seen, times infinity. But, unlike a normally placid cow, this creature's temperament must have been as ugly as its appearance. Buffy could clearly hear it growling even through the closed window, and she couldn't help but smirk at the animal's constant attempts to nip at the other woman's arms.

Of course, she wouldn't ordinarily take pleasure in such a thing, but she didn't like this Nareetha person. At all. Not that said person was likely to care much, since said person was too busy throwing herself at Spike every time he turned around. Buffy might have been jumping through hoops to avoid him, but she'd seen enough to know that much, at least.

Buffy's stroll down the jealousy path jerked to an abrupt halt, ended by a sudden flurry of commotion outside the inn. Unintelligible shouts were followed by the sound of clanging metal and pounding hooves, growing louder for a moment before receding into the distance. She turned her head, straining hard to see beyond the yard, but the outer walls of the inn and surrounding buildings stubbornly blocked her view.

Before she could follow her instincts and seek out the trouble, Buffy caught a flash of movement in her peripheral vision. It drew her gaze back down to the kitchen yard just as Reema and Tondor's younger daughter appeared. What did Angel call her…Meesa? That sounded right.

A brief, animated conversation took place between the sisters, with much gesturing from both parties. Nareetha ended it with a sharp shrug of her shoulders as she motioned the younger woman to take her place at the cow-thingie's side. But instead of disappearing into the inn, as Buffy fully expected, Nareetha crossed to a strange-looking contraption located at the center of the yard. There, she began pumping a steady stream of water into an adjacent metal trough. Drinking water…for the livestock, Buffy hoped.

She had less than two seconds to puzzle over the scene before a familiar tingling sensation assailed her and a sharp knock sounded at the door. Buffy quickly closed the shutters, blocking out all but a thin frame of light, then lifted her chin, squared her shoulders and prepared to face the inevitable.

She opened the door. Spike stood there, his face reflecting a mixture of uncertainty and determination.

"Thought you'd be here sooner." She tried to sound calm and matter of fact, but her voice wouldn't cooperate. It came out more like a plaintive six-year-old, and that was so not how she wanted to do this.

As she took in the surprised look Spike gave her, she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. She stepped back, opening the door wide in silent invitation as Spike went from surprised to guarded. Long seconds passed, with no move on his part.

When she realized why, a little pang shot through her. "Sorry. Duh. Spike, come in. Please."

His head tilted in that familiar way that never failed to get to her, blue eyes scanning her face as if he could see straight into her soul. Which, sometimes, she'd swear he could. Other times, especially lately…not so much.

Not sure just how much she wanted him to see, Buffy played it safe and looked away. Her gaze fell upon the rustic bed that took up most of the room's space, its rough-woven sheets still rumpled from her vain attempt at napping earlier in the day. But that only conjured up memories of other beds, and other rumpled sheets, and the things she and Spike had done to make them that way…

She slammed the brakes hard on that train of thought and instantly shifted her attention to a plump, hide-covered chair shoehorned into one corner of the room. But that reminded her of the chair in Spike's old crypt and the interesting hours they'd spent dreaming up various ways to…

_No, no, no! Bad, Buffy. Do not go there._

She could only hope that Spike was too preoccupied to notice her ill-timed state of arousal. Gritting her teeth and still avoiding his gaze, Buffy waited until the faint rustle of clothing – and an overwhelming conviction that the room had suddenly grown much smaller – told her it was safe to close the door.

She turned to find Spike disconcertingly close, that damn head tilt still in full play. He shrugged a little, sidetracking her with the subtle flexing of muscles under his borrowed shirt. She really, really hoped Giles would let him keep it when they got back, because she so did _not_ want to associate this massive pang of longing and desire with anything remotely related to her Watcher.

Spike's voice overrode her wandering thoughts.

"Would've been here sooner, but Angel had this notion you didn't want to see me. He thought it would make it worse, whatever _it_ is."

Why was she not surprised to hear that Angel had gone all Mr. Protective? Even if he didn't have the slightest idea what he was protecting her from. She could hardly blame him, under the circumstances, but she did wonder exactly what he'd told Spike.

"Why did he think that?"

"Dunno. Maybe it's the way you keep not being there whenever I come around."

It could have been an accusation, but it didn't sound like one. It felt more like a question, and a natural opening for what had to come next. So Buffy took it.

"Spike, there's something…" She stopped. Looked at the wall, at the ceiling, at his scuffed boots planted firmly in front of her – anywhere but into those electric blue eyes. "Damn it, how am I supposed to tell you this? After everything you've been through. Knowing how much it means to you…"

She trailed off again. The silence in the room flowed between them like a live current. Through it all, Spike waited silently. For what might be the first time since she'd known him, his face told her nothing.

"Okay. Not the best start," she said. "Backing up some…when Giles called me to England, I didn't know you were there. I thought you were dead. And then I found out you weren't, and I felt so many things. I wanted to help you. To be there for you. I wanted to love you and save you, like you saved me. Because that's what you did. You know that, right?"

He still wasn't moving, wasn't responding in any way. Buffy looked down and caught herself fiddling with the buttons on her shirt. It was so stupid. She couldn't say things right. Couldn't even figure out what to do with her hands. She decided to talk to his feet.

"I know you would've done anything for me. You have…so many times. I just wanted to do the same for you. And I did. But then you woke up and it wasn't how I thought it would be. You got so angry. Acted so stupid. And I got mad and acted stupid, too, but I figured, hey, that's what we do, right? And sooner or later we'd get things sorted out and it would be okay and we could make it up to each other. For that, and for everything else."

She lifted her head. Met his gaze head on. "But the whole time I knew something wasn't right. I _felt_ it. And you just kept on with the stupid. And, okay, I wasn't much better. Got that. Then we found Angel. And he was human because of that shoe-thingy. And when I talked to him I realized…I realized…I mean…"

And still he just watched her with his very quiet, insanely beautiful, totally impossible-to-read face. Buffy shifted a bit. Welcomed the hard feel of the heavy wooden door against her back. Reminded herself that she was the Slayer. She could do this…_had_ to do this.

"Look, I messed up. I got it wrong. And I won't blame you if you hate me for it. I should've told you right away. Denial Girl strikes again. But you deserve the truth, so…" She took a deep breath. "Spike, I—"

"Don't."

She blinked. He'd barely breathed the word and for a second she wasn't sure he'd actually spoken.

"Don't say it."

Check. He'd spoken. Great. Barely two minutes into her confession and already he didn't want to talk to her. "Spike—"

His voice was harsh. "I mean it, Buffy! Don't say it! I already know."

_Duh_. Of course he knew. He'd been talking to Gunn…and Angel, too. He must have figured it out the same way she had. Part of her felt relieved that she didn't have to tell him what he'd lost because of her, but the other part of Buffy thought she was getting off way too easily.

Or…judging by his now-stormy expression, maybe not.

She scrambled to explain. "I swear I didn't know. Honestly. I mean, I know that's no consolation. But if I _had_ known, I never would've done what I did to…to wake you up. I would've let you stay in the coma."

It was true. She'd loved being in his arms again, and yes…she could admit she'd gotten off on the bitey part. But if she could go back and give it up so that Spike could be human like he wanted, she totally would. So why was he looking at her as if she'd suddenly grown two heads?

"Bloody hell. Bit blunt there, slayer. Should be glad you finally see the right of it, I s'pose, but can't say as I care for the reasoning. Couldn't dress it up a bit?"

It was Buffy's turn to stare. "Huh?"

"Something like…there's a special place for me in your heart? You love me, but _he_ needs you more? We'll always have Sunnydale?"

Buffy could have sworn her brain was shutting down. "What? He? Who he? And again…_huh_?"

He ran an agitated hand through his hair, resulting in that slightly mussed-up look she loved. Which didn't seem quite as adorable as it usually did, considering the laser-beam glare he was directing at her.

"Least you could do is give a vamp his pride before you kick him to the curb!"

At that, something finally fired in Buffy's dormant synapses and her mouth snapped shut. Squinting hard, she held up a hand. "Okay. Wait. Are we having the same conversation here, 'cause I'm thinking not." She stepped away from the door, deliberately invading his space, and touched his arm. It was the first physical contact they'd had since she'd tackled him in the street. "Exactly what are we talking about in _your_ version?"

He looked down at her hand then back up, regarding her with a wary gaze. But she saw something spark in his eyes, and when he spoke again, his voice lacked its previous accusing tone.

"You. Angel. Lettin' me down easy. Can't say I haven't been expectin' it."

Buffy held his gaze for a beat longer. Then she pulled her hand back, breaking contact.

"Coward."

Spike's brow furrowed.

After the emotional roller coaster ride he'd just put her through, Buffy took perverse satisfaction in his obvious confusion. "You're not upset because you think I don't love you. You're upset because I do."

He blinked. "What the bloody hell are you on about, slayer?"

"Just the truth. You can't handle it. I know enough from things Angel has said, things that you've let slip. It's fine as long as you can follow someone around, mooning over them, all big with the unrequited love. But just let it be requited for one second and you're running for the nearest exit!" She folded her arms. "Guess that explains all the drama when you woke up and found us in bed doing…stuff."

Spike huffed, then scowled. "You've gone completely starkers."

"Admit it. I gave myself to you. Totally. No holding back. And you couldn't handle it."

"What I couldn't _handle_ was coming so close to killing you!"

She scoffed. "As if."

"I bloody well could have! And you wouldn't have stopped me. Because that's what you get off on, isn't it?"

Buffy stiffened. "Oh, we are _not_ going there again," she warned. "I'm so over that."

"Not talkin' about a death wish, love. Talkin' about the danger. And the power. That's what draws you, isn't it? Wouldn't have looked twice at me, I'll warrant, if I'd been livin', breathin' and clerking in an office somewhere." He jabbed an accusing finger at her. "It's not _who_ I am, it's _what_ I am. That's what really does it for you, isn't it?"

She stared at him in disbelief. "Oh, my god, Spike. Feel free to get over yourself any time now."

He nodded vehemently, almost bouncing in place with the force of his conviction. "And it's not just me, is it? It's the others, too. Could just as easily be one of _them_ standin' here now if things had gone a bit differently."

"Excuse me, but didn't we just go over this last night? I can't help it that you're not my first! Or my only! I had a life before you came along. I had one before we fell out of hate with each other. And, yes, you're not the only man I've ever loved. Isthat what this is about? Some kind of _insecurity_ complex?"

"Inferiority. And, no, it's neither. Just statin' facts. Angel. Your super-honey soldier boy. Me. Oh, and let's not forget The Immortal!" He snorted. "There's no missin' the pattern there, love. Unless you've got some non-supernatural sweethearts I don't know of knockin' about?"

Now he really had her blood boiling.

"You can't be serious. You, Mr. Pot-Kettle-Black, are actually accusing _me_ of having some kind of super-power fetish? Which I so _do not_! You're not even making sense. You accuse me of dumping you, a _super-powered vampire_, for Angel, who last time I checked is…Hello! Human! You can't have it both ways. Either I want normal, or I want you!"

Spike leaned in close, his nose almost touching hers. His voice dropped to a low rumble that she felt all the way down to her toes.

"Face it, slayer. A real boy could never keep up with you, and I don't just mean in bed. You know it. I know it. So choose him, if you like. But you're never gonna be satisfied."

Buffy stared, totally incredulous. He wasn't even listening to her. He was so caught up in his…whatever it was…that nothing she'd said had even registered.

"He'll never give you what you want."

When she thought back to how hard she'd grieved for him. How she'd tried to make amends.

"He'll never make you happy."

While he hadn't even bothered to tell her he was back among the living...

"He'll never _know_ you the way I do."

She snapped.

Grabbing Spike by the front of his borrowed shirt, she strong-armed him across the room, never losing contact as she slammed his back against the wall. She'd narrowly missed shoving him through the window, but that thought barely registered.

He met her eyes defiantly, his expression both guarded and openly challenging. She knew that look. She remembered it well. He was waiting for her to hit him. Waiting for her to kiss him. To fall back into old patterns and prove that everything he'd said was still true.

She stopped, took a steadying breath, and let him go.

"I promised myself I would never do that again, but god, Spike, you make me so crazy! You get these stupid ideas and then you just run with them. How have you survived this long? Seriously." She stepped up close, tilting her head back to gaze into his face. His eyes locked with hers. "Look…I love you, you idiot vampire. I mean it now, and I meant it then. I should've said it sooner, but I didn't know! I mean, I knew you were important to me…for a lot of reasons. But I didn't _know_ know. And when I did, I tried to tell you but you were all Mr. Condescending I'm Saving the World So I Know Everything. And for the record? I am _so_ tired of always apologizing for everything I did or didn't do!"

Spike's eyebrow rose. Buffy's gaze dropped.

"In my head," she clarified meekly.

She looked up. Felt herself falling into Spike's awestruck gaze. It took her back to another time and another place – a place they'd left so far behind, but one that was still so much a part of them. As she watched, his eyes softened and his hand rose to caress her hair. That took her back even further, to the night of their first real kiss.

"Got nothing you need to apologize for, Buffy."

She smiled sadly. "I wish that was true. You don't know how much. That's what I was trying to tell you when you went all Drama Queen on me."

"Buffy—"

"It was supposed to be yours."

"What was, pet?"

"That prophecy thing."

"The Shanshu?"

She nodded. "It was yours, not Angel's. I took it away from you. It's my fault that Angel's human and you're not."

* * *

TBC in Chapter 18


	18. Chapter 18

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Finally! It's been another really long delay between updates. So sorry about that. But please know that the story is not and will not be abandoned, and many thanks to those of you who are still hanging in there. As always, I hope to have another update sooner rather than later, but since Real Life has a way of interfering and I don't want to jinx it by promising anything, let's just say I'm working on the next chapter and leave it at that. Heh.

In case you need a refresher without having to go back and read the whole thing, here's a rundown of events leading up to this point…

SYNOPSIS: Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what that would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway.

Shortly after arriving in the alternate dimension, the two get a little…um…distracted. Then Buffy says something stupid and Spike says something stupid and…well, I think you can see where this is heading. And then things really heat up...literally...when that pesky NFA dragon shows up. But that's nothing compared to what happens once Buffy finally tracks down Angel. It's deja vu with the Angel kissage, though Buffy's heart isn't in that relationship anymore. But good luck convincing Spike of that when he sees them and storms off. So this time it's Buffy who's chasing after Spike, but that doesn't work out so well, and now they find themselves at a bit of a stalemate.

In the meantime, daylight strands them at an inn and tavern (since Spike and sunshine aren't mixy things) where a newly shanshued Angel and a fully recovered Gunn have been living for months with a local family. While Spike catches up with Gunn, Angel and Buffy have a long heart-to-heart. Angel realizes Buffy loves Spike and wants a future with him. And Buffy realizes Spike's mysterious coma was actually part of the Shanshu process and that her attempts to wake him up have prevented him from becoming human.

Buffy's feeling a wee bit guilty and starts avoiding Spike, who knows something is up but isn't having much luck cornering his slayer. Angel thinks Buffy wants a human Spike. Spike thinks Buffy wants a vampire Angel. Buffy dreads having to tell Spike that he's lost his Shanshu because of her.

Before anything can be resolved, Angel and Gunn are called away to hunt down a band of demon raiders, also sucked into this dimension when Angel and Gunn were, leaving the way open for a long-overdue discussion between our two hard-headed blondes. Because it's Spike and Buffy, more arguing, misunderstandings and revelations ensue, ending with Buffy's big confession…

* * *

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Spike stared at Buffy, long seconds passing without either of them making a sound. He could tell she wanted to look away, but didn't. Instead she held his gaze, laying it out there for him to see – her remorse, her guilt. All prompted by the thought that she'd taken something from him. Something he'd wanted, perhaps as much as he'd wanted her.

Sod it all. Angel had been right, at least in part. She _had_ wanted the Shanshu for him. But how much of it was Buffy actually hoping for a life together, and how much was her conscience nipping at her, he didn't know. He thought back to her earlier words.

"_After everything you've been through. Knowing how much it means to you…"_

She'd offered him her heart. But was it her version of some bloody consolation prize? His inner William couldn't help but wonder.

He slowly exhaled. "The coma…that what gave you this idea? You're thinking you kept me from turning human?"

She nodded.

He snorted. "Bollocks!"

"Spike, you don't understand. Angel was—"

"Was in a coma just like mine, only they let it run its course and he woke up all livin', breathin' and chronologically challenged. Leave anything out?"

She stared at him. "Chrono-huh?"

"Getting older."

Her gaze dropped. "You knew."

"Charlie told me, yeah. 'Bout the big transformation. It's got nothing to do with what happened to me."

Her head shot up, giving him a clear view of her incredulous expression. "How can you say that? What about that person-thing you saw when you were unconscious? You said she talked about the prophecy!"

"She talked about _a_ prophecy. Never said it was this one."

"Right. Because there are just _sooo_ many prophecies."

"In point of fact…"

Buffy crossed her arms, her mouth set, her eyes narrowed. "You know what? You seem pretty sure of that. Is there something you forgot to tell us?"

A warning alarm went off in Spike's brain. "Ah…about what?" he stalled.

"Don't even, Spike."

His mind flashed back to what the not-Fred had said. That Buffy was meddling in matters she didn't understand. That she would "mess things up" and that she would try to call him back but he had to resist or the prophecy would be altered. He hadn't much cared at the time to suss out whatever nonsense the entity was spouting. He'd just wanted to get out of that void and back to the people who mattered most.

But now it made sense. Now he had the answer he'd so desperately wanted back in LA. He _was_ the one. He'd had a destiny, a prophecy that belonged to him and not Angel. For once in his life, he had possessed something that hadn't belonged to Angel first, despite what everyone else thought.

He'd had it, and he'd lost it. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. But it was obvious how Buffy felt, and it wasn't a burden he would let her carry.

"Spike!"

Running a distracted hand through his hair, he sighed. "Look, you really think if a prophecy comes knockin' and you're not home that it gives up and trots along to the next house, bangin' on doors till somebody finally answers? Doesn't work that way, love. If you're the one it wants, it'll find you, no matter what. You should know."

Bloody hell. When he put it that way, maybe it hadn't been his to lose. Maybe he was deluding himself again. How could he ever know for sure? He rubbed his temples, wondering if it was possible for a vampire to get a non-chip-induced headache.

Buffy glared at him. "Are you trying to let me off the hook, or are you really this dense? Because either way, it's seriously annoying."

Spike knew a lost cause when it smacked him in the face, metaphorically speaking. Once Buffy had her mind made up, there wasn't much hope of changing it. He let out a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes as he shrugged one shoulder, and hoped she wouldn't notice that his gaze didn't quite meet hers.

"Does it even matter? Look…Buffy…prophecy or not, what's done is done and it can't be undone. No good fretting about it, pet."

Buffy, who had remained unnervingly close since sharing her big revelation, now abruptly pushed away, spinning around as she headed for the door. Spike waited, half expecting her to yank it open and storm out of the room. Instead, she stopped just short of it, stood motionless for a moment, then spun back around to face him, giving him a clear view of her expression, equal parts irritated and bewildered.

"How can you say that? How can you be so calm? You should be angry! You could have been _human_ and I took it away from you because _I_ wanted to be the one to help you. _I_ wanted to bring you back! Giles thinks the higher powers are pulling our strings, but it's my fault things turned out this way. Why aren't you yelling at me…or…or walking out? Why don't you _ever_ get angry with me?"

Her outburst surprised Spike, though maybe it shouldn't have, since he had a feeling it was about more than missing out on the Shanshu Prophecy. He took a careful step forward, his hand held out. "Buffy…" He needed to tread easy. Her emotions seemed to be all over the place and the last thing he wanted was for her to get spooked and rabbit off. The Slayer was all but fearless, except, as he'd learned, when it came to dealing with matters of the heart. Specifically, anything that had ever delved too deeply into their tumultuous relationship.

He tried again. "Buffy, I don't—"

A woman's shrill scream froze them where they stood as Spike's head swiveled to follow the sound. Out the window that overlooked the kitchen yard he spotted the struggling forms of Nareetha and Meesa. There was another flash of movement and their mother appeared, instantly grabbed and held tightly by...

"Raiders! Bloody hell!"

Spike and Buffy passed each other mid-room – he, rushing for the door, she moving just as quickly toward the window. Then he was barreling down the stairs, without a sword but already shifting into game face. By the time he hit the bottom step he could hear Buffy following, rapidly closing the gap between them.

Spike reached the door first, flung it open and slammed hard into a bright wall of sunlight. Swearing, he recoiled, arm jerking upwards to shield his face. Buffy flew past him without breaking stride, charging into the open yard. Spike, sidelined by the sun, could only stand and watch as she slowed to scoop up an abandoned pitchfork then dove tine-first into the crowd of raiders surrounding the three women.

Any other time, Spike would have settled back and enjoyed the show, content to admire Buffy while she made short work of the raiders. But there were at least a dozen of them out there, and no matter how good his slayer was, she couldn't defend all directions at once.

Frustrated, he did what he could to help, shouting out warnings whenever a raider attacked from her blind side. One by one they were going down. But it wasn't fast enough. No sooner had one dropped than another two or three appeared from nowhere to join the fray. Finally, just as Buffy took out a hairy Maglugg demon that had dropped its guard when she faked a stumble, it happened.

The demon holding Meesa viciously twisted her arm, eliciting a strangled cry of fear and pain. Spike tensed, watching as Buffy's attention wavered between the oncoming raiders and the women she battled to save. Only for a split second, but that was all it took.

With an unearthly shriek a massive Ghounash K'har bore down on Buffy, greasy dreadlocks writhing around its head, each one alive and hissing, though Spike couldn't hear them over the din of clanging weapons and loud cries. The demon's fierce eyes glowed red with bloodlust as it blocked the last-minute jab of Buffy's pitchfork with a rock-hard forearm then grabbed the tines, yanking it from her hands. Instantly, the remaining raiders swarmed over her, burying her beneath them with the sheer weight of their numbers. After the dust settled, Buffy was on her knees, arms immobilized by a trio of hulking raiders. A gleaming sword tip rested against her throat, sunlight glinting off the smooth blade.

The raider holding the sword glanced toward another demon, one that Spike didn't recognize, standing off to one side. From the way the others followed suit, it was obvious he was their leader. Unlike most of the raiders, who were various heights but universally stocky, this demon was tall and unusually slender. His long red hair framed an eerily pale face dominated by large, slanted black eyes that showed not a hint of white and a subtle snout that took the place of a nose. The overall effect was an appearance far more alien than that of the other demons around him.

Everyone in the yard fell silent as he moved forward, clearly favoring an injured leg. A few limping steps brought him face to face with Buffy.

"What we have here?" he hissed. "Be it a slayer?" His voice was sibilant but rasping, reminding Spike of a cross between a serpent and a rusty saw scraping against metal. "Not rare as they be once, but still…a prize. Never had slayer before to play with."

He leaned down until he was almost snout to nose with Buffy. His words were intended for her ears, but Spike could hear every chilling syllable.

"How long to scream for mercy? Before you beg for dying? Hour? Two?" He gave a gravelly chuckle. "Let be at _least_ two. Longer, better. Not like, if time be wasted. Take you back to camp, yes? Play with you good. Make it last."

Though Buffy remained silent her glare spoke volumes. Throwing back his head, the demon roared with gloating laughter.

Spike's mind worked frantically, formulating and discarding a hundred different plans in the space of a few seconds. The raiders would take Buffy away and there was nothing he could do to stop it unless he figured out how to keep them there. There was only one way he could think of to do that.

Spike roared his frustration, kicking the heavy wooden door and sending it slamming back against the wall. As intended, the commotion caught the leader's attention. His head jerked around and his unearthly gaze locked onto the doorway just as Spike shifted back into human face.

He froze, snarling in recognition. "Be it William the Bloody…filthy traitor _half-breed!_" he shouted. Then breaking off, he looked from Spike to Buffy and back to Spike, releasing a breathy hiss of laughter. "Know who be here, boys? Head slayer and her vampire dog."

Drawing a dagger from his belt, he moved to stand behind Buffy and signaled the raiders holding her to force her to her feet. A brief scuffle later, one of the demons staggered away with at least a broken rib or two, but Buffy was once again secured, this time facing Spike.

With a chilling grin that exposed a mouthful of jagged, rotting teeth, the head raider stepped forward, pressing his dagger across her throat so firmly it was clear she couldn't speak without risking serious injury.

He looked at Spike. "Big man in alley, be you?" he sneered loudly. His expression darkened. "Killed Krannuk, brother of me! Make worse with insult by not take his head. No respect for enemy! Show you how feels it. Kill something you be loving. Other vampire gone. Village men gone. So time I take. Do it right. Make…_interesting_."

Reaching out a pale hand he stroked Buffy's hair, baring his decaying teeth again as he leered into her upturned face.

"Get your _bloody_ hands off her, you rotting piece of filth! You so much as _breathe_ on her and I'll pull your innards out through your eyeballs!" But even as he roared the words, Spike knew it was an empty threat. A seemingly endless expanse of sun-bathed yard lay between them, with not even a blanket at hand. He would most likely burn up before he ever reached them.

The smirking demon had obviously drawn the same conclusion, laughing even harder than he had before. He leaned his face in close to Buffy's, but as Spike would've expected, the slayer remained motionless. Struggling was useless at this point, and he knew she wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

"How feel it, _vampire_? Because of what you be, knowing you could save her."

The dagger flicked and a single drop of blood ran down Buffy's throat.

"But because of what you be, knowing you can not."

Another flick, and another drop of blood.

"All can you do is _watch_."

A third flick, only this cut was longer, a thin red line appearing as several drops chased each other down Buffy's neck. Meanwhile, the other demons laughed uproariously.

"Slitting throat easy. Better take apart, piece at a time. More fun. Where we start now…ear?" The dagger slid upward, pushing the hair away from the side of her head. "Nose?" It moved to the front of her face, forming an obscene metal moustache. "No…wait." He grinned triumphantly, ignoring the heated string of profanities Spike shouted at him and the frantic, muffled protests coming from the captive Reema and her daughters. "Make it…eye! Two she have. Still be one left to watch…_everything_."

Shifting the dagger in his hand, the leader let the sharp point rest beneath Buffy's right eye. Even from a distance, Spike could see his muscles tense for action. Could spot the veiled fear on Buffy's face, even though she hid it well. Could smell the rancid odor of sweat as the harsh sun beat down on the demons' leather jerkins.

Spike extended his senses, hoping desperately to detect the sound of Angel and Gunn returning with the others. All he could hear was the terrified sobbing of Tondor's youngest daughter and the eager grunting of demon raiders waiting for their promised show.

The dagger-wielding leader gave Spike a final, vicious grin.

"No worry. Last thing she see be your pretty face."

The dagger rose, and with a primal roar Spike balled his fists and charged through the door into the full light of day.

Buffy's agonized yell was the last thing he heard as he started to burn.

* * *

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I'm _baaaaaaack!_ Heh. Hard to believe, I know, but this story hasn't been abandoned. Should have posted this chapter months ago, but it's been a very hard year. At this point, I've learned that even the very best intentions tend to get sidetracked by Real Life, so no promises, but I hope to have another chapter ready soon. ::fingers crossed:: In the meantime, hope you enjoy!

If you're a glutton for punishment, you can go back and read the previous 18 chapters to refresh your memory. But in case you're not, here's a recap of the action thus far…

**RECAP:** Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what _that_ would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway.

Shortly after arriving in the alternate dimension, the two get a little…um…distracted. Then Buffy says something stupid and Spike says something stupid and…well, I think you can see where this is heading. And then things really heat up...literally...when that pesky NFA dragon shows up. But that's nothing compared to what happens once Buffy finally tracks down Angel. It's _deja vu_ with the Angel kissage, though Buffy's heart isn't in that relationship anymore. But good luck convincing Spike of that when he sees them and storms off. So this time it's Buffy who's chasing after Spike, but that doesn't work out so well, and now they find themselves at a bit of a stalemate.

In the meantime, daylight strands them at an inn and tavern (since Spike and sunshine aren't mixy things) where a newly shanshued Angel and a fully recovered Gunn have been living for months with a local family. While Spike catches up with Gunn, Angel and Buffy have a long heart-to-heart. Angel realizes Buffy loves Spike and wants a future with him. And Buffy is convinced Spike's mysterious coma was actually part of the Shanshu process and that her attempts to wake him up have prevented him from becoming human.

Buffy feels a wee bit guilty and starts avoiding Spike, who knows something is up but isn't having much luck cornering his slayer. Angel thinks Buffy wants a human Spike. Spike thinks Buffy wants a vampire Angel. Buffy dreads having to tell Spike that he's lost his Shanshu because of her.

Before anything can be resolved, Angel and Gunn rush off to hunt down a band of demon raiders, also sucked into this dimension when Angel and Gunn were, leaving the way open for a long-overdue discussion between our two hard-headed blondes. Because it's Spike and Buffy, more arguing, misunderstandings and revelations ensue, ending with Buffy's big confession.

But just when it seems they're about to get it all hashed out, those pesky raiders attack, eventually overpowering a badly outnumbered Buffy. When the ruthless raider chief threatens to slice and dice the slayer, Spike has only one choice left. To charge out into the lethal light of day in a hopeless attempt to save her. Buffy's agonized yell is the last thing he hears as he starts to burn…

* * *

CHAPTER NINETEEN

He wasn't on fire.

It took Spike nearly a full second to process that fact. Instead of flames, the burning sensation he felt came from the heat of a sun so intense it almost caused him physical pain.

Only…not.

The full significance of this didn't sink in right away. All Spike could think about was Buffy. He had to know she was okay. Had to be sure her anguished cry was prompted, not by pain, but by his own suicidal charge into the sunlight. Had to first see for himself that she was beautifully alive and in one relatively unharmed piece, rather than dead, dying or mutilated.

Then the reality train hit him full force.

Gazing at Buffy's gobsmacked face – her mouth agape, eyes wider than he'd ever seen them – Spike giggled. He took in the staring demons, some of them mirroring the slayer's stunned expression, and giggled harder.

"Spike…" Buffy's voice sounded as bewildered as she looked. "What…?"

Still giggling, he shook his head. "Dunno, slayer. But whatever it is, it feels bloody brilliant!" Looking down at his outstretched hands, the smooth, pale skin made even more luminous by the harsh sunlight, Spike marveled at the notable lack of smoke and flames. He giggled again.

"Oh, my god."

The intensity of Buffy's words sobered him faster than a two-ton charging Tan' kahar demon. His head shot up. Shoulders back, fists at the ready, he scanned the yard. "What? What's wrong?"

Shrugging off the slackened grip of her capors, a bruised and slightly bloody Buffy started towards him. No one moved to stop her, the demon leader merely twitching a bit as he hissed low in his throat. Buffy didn't seem to notice.

"You know what this is. It's that thing! That shoe-shine thing!"

Relaxing his stance, Spike snorted. "Not bloody likely. Despite appearances to the contrary, pet…still a vampire."

Buffy stopped less than two steps away. Hands resting on her hips, she regarded him with narrowed gaze. "How do you know? Maybe there was a delayed reaction. Have you checked?"

"Checked?" He stared at her blankly.

"Yes! Checked! When was the last time you went all fangy?"

Raising an eyebrow, Spike jerked his chin toward the watching raiders. "About thirty seconds before you decided to go all Bruce Willis on that lot there."

Buffy visibly deflated. "Oh. Well…" She frowned. "Maybe it just happened. Try again."

"Buffy…"

"Just try!"

He vamped out. "Sorry, slayer. Still a hundred percent undead."

She glared at him, her expression mulish. "Maybe. Maybe not. How come you're not on fire, huh? You're not all flamey. You're not dust. You're not even smoldering."

Spike shrugged. "Different dimension, different sun, different rules."

"Oh, please," Buffy scoffed.

He bristled. "Hey! Happened to Angel! Fred told me all about it. Went runnin' around in another dimension. Broad daylight. Didn't even pack his sunscreen lotion. He didn't go 'all flamey' either."

A hissing growl rather like an enraged cobra drew their attention to the raiders' alien-looking chief. Slanted coal-black eyes squinted hard at Spike. "What trick this be? Vampire die in sun. Why not you die?"

They stared at him a full beat then turned back to each other.

"This is my fault." Buffy bit her lip, forehead creased in thought as she reasoned it out. "I did this. I took it away from you, so The Powers...or whatever…they gave it to Angel instead. But some of it must have stuck."

Spike snorted. "Bollocks. Think about it, pet. Angel got the fever as soon as he was sucked through the portal. Turned human before you pulled me out of the bloody coma. Whatever this is, I'm betting it's got nothing to do with any sodding prophecy."

Another angry hiss sounded. "You show respect! You be vampire! You burn now!" High-pitched hissing sounds punctuated every other word, putting Spike in mind of a demented teakettle. The other raiders shifted uneasily.

Spike wasn't impressed. "Wait your turn, you git, or I'll respect your bloody head off!" As he met Buffy's gaze, his voice softened. "Look…love…I know you think you've got it all figured out, but there's only one vampire with a soul destined to be human and turns out it wasn't me."

The hissing escalated. "Stangor no wait! You die now! She die now! All die now!"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "We're having a conversation here, _Stangor_. I'll come kill you as soon as we're done, 'kay?"

Spike bit back a smile as she turned her exasperation back to him. "Spike, we can't be sure how any of this works. Even if time does go by faster here than it does back home, this is not just a coincidence. I don't understand why you're being so stubborn. You wanted this!"

"Did not. Leastways…not exactly. Wanted the prophecy, yeah, but…" He struggled to explain – to himself, to her. "It did mean something, only…it wasn't…"

The hissing gave way to a massive roar that echoed through the yard. "No more! No talk!" With a few limping steps, the now out-of-patience Stangor planted himself next to Reema and her terrified daughters. He confiscated a sword from one of his men and brandished it in front of the women. "You fear Stangor! You _fear_!"

A faint whooshing sound reached Spike's ears. An instant later, a dagger came hurtling out of nowhere. It embedded itself deep into Stangor's chest, effectively cutting off his rant as the demon's expression changed from furious to dumbfounded. The sword he'd been clutching slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. He wrapped pale, shaking hands around the protruding dagger hilt and wrenched it free, waving it weakly in front of him.

"Die…all die…" he gasped. Then a gush of pitch-black blood spurted from his mouth and with a loud, gurgling sound, he fell backwards, arms and legs splayed. Tiny puffs of dust rose up around him, hanging in mid-air before drifting back to the ground.

In the yard, shocked silence reigned until a sardonic voice cut through the hush.

"Hey, Angel! Found your knife. Looks like you left it stickin' out of some skinny-ass dude's chest."

Following the voice, Spike spotted a grinning Gunn standing on the slanted roof of a neighboring building. He leaned against a stone chimneystack, arms folded in a nonchalant pose.

Then a flicker of movement in Spike's peripheral vision drew his attention in another direction. It was Angel, strolling through the unguarded archway separating the yard from the adjacent street. He carried a sword in one hand – the blade casually resting against his shoulder, tip pointed skyward.

"Really? Damn. Gotta stop doing that."

Angel eyed the dumbstruck raiders as he came to a halt. "You boys look surprised." He dropped his gaze to Stangor's lifeless body, sprawled in the dirt, and shook his head. "Now see, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I shouldn't have killed him like that. No fair warning for him to sneer at. No ultimatum for him to reject. I didn't even do the witty banter thing first."

He shrugged. "Oh, well. My bad. Guess I'm a little out of practice. But if you're thinking about taking advantage…"

Angel pursed his lips and let out a shrill whistle. On cue, villagers armed with bows and arrows popped out of every conceivable hiding place, pouring through the archway and lining the neighboring walls and rooftops.

"…that would be a very bad move." Angel's smile was friendly, but his voice had turned ice cold. "And in case you're wondering, that's the fair warning part. Now here's your ultimatum: If you want to live? Let the women go, and leave. Anyone still here after the count of three is a dead demon. Anyone who tries to come back is a dead demon. In fact, anyone caught within a 10-day ride of this village is a _really_ dead demon. Only it won't be as fast or as pretty as it was for your boss there. And because for some reason I'm feeling extra generous right now, I'll let you in on a secret. There won't be any witty banter then either. I'll just skip straight to the killing."

He turned his attention to Buffy. "You okay?" Without looking at the still-frozen demons, he barked, "_One!_"

A slight ripple of movement ran through the group.

She nodded. "Peachy."

Angel nodded back. "Good." He studied Reema and her daughters. "Ladies?"

Jerking free, Reema shoved aside a hulking Bartok demon who stood between her and her children. "Well enough, Angel-_kushla_. Though better if we could have their hearts for dinner!" she added fiercely.

Angel appeared to seriously consider it. "Could be arranged. _Two!_"

Three or four demons began edging toward the archway, but the majority still milled around, looking from Angel to the armed villagers to Buffy and Spike and back to the armed villagers.

Angel sighed. "You really are a stupid bunch, aren't you?" Preparing to signal the archers, he hefted his sword.

A squat raider, looking like a cross between a bow-legged toad and a giant armadillo, let out an ear-splitting yowl and the demons broke rank. A solid mass of scales, hair and slime surged across the yard, stirring up a cloud of dust and forcing Angel to jump out of the way. The panicked group stampeded through the archway, spilling out into the street beyond.

Slapping the dust off his clothes, Angel smirked as the last of the demoralized raiders exited the yard. "Now that's more like it." Motioning a few men to shadow the demons' retreat, he shouldered his sword, still smirking. "Am I good, or am I good?"

Gunn dropped from the rooftop onto a stone wall bordering the yard before leaping gracefully to the ground. "Oh, yeah. You're good. Almost as badass as I am."

Then his gaze zeroed in on Meesa, held securely in the circle of her mother's embrace, and three long strides carried him to her side. He swept her into his arms as she buried her face against his neck and began to weep. Gunn made quiet shushing sounds while her shaken but beaming mother looked on. Nareetha, nestled against her mother's other side, wiped her eyes and smiled.

Spike himself couldn't help but smile wistfully at the picture they made but sobered when he felt Angel's gaze burning a metaphorical hole through him. It brought the reality of his situation rushing back, and he straightened, eyes locking with Angel's as he raised an eyebrow. It was Angel who finally broke the silence.

"So. You're not on fire."

"Yeah. Sorry."

Angel scowled. "You can't help it, can you? Always have to show off. Care to explain?"

Spike shrugged. "Not much to say. Guess you were wrong about the sunlight here."

"I wasn't wrong."

"No? Then how do _you_ bloody explain it?"

Angel didn't answer, but Buffy did. She folded her arms, gazing at Spike with that familiar stubborn tilt to her chin. "He doesn't have to. I told you. There's only one explanation."

Spike shot her his best squinty-eyed warning glare. Buffy, of course, ignored it.

"There's something you don't know. Before we came here, Spike was—"

A blood-curdling shriek cut her off.

Spike, Buffy and Angel turned as one, to find a distraught Reema barreling towards them. "Tondor! Where is my Tondor? Why is he not here? Is he dead? Tell me!" Reaching them, she started to wail.

Angel placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Reema, it's okay. Nothing's happened to him. He's not dead and he's not hurt. He's just taking care of a few loose ends and then he'll be here. I promise you."

Reema stared at him then burst into tears again, throwing her arms around him in a long, fierce hug. Angel patted her awkwardly on the back, waiting until she loosened her grip. Then he smiled at her reassuringly and gestured toward the inn. "You've been through a lot, and so have your girls. Why don't you take them inside and wait for Tondor there? You know that's the first place he's going to look for you."

Reema sniffled, drying her eyes with the corner of her apron. She straightened – head high, face composed – and nodded. "You are right, _kushla_. Of course he will come. He is my Tondor. He would not allow anything to take him away from us. I'm a foolish woman to think otherwise."

With that, she returned to her daughters, gently drawing Meesa away from Gunn as she herded both girls through the inn's open doorway.

Gunn watched them go then joined Spike and the others, stepping over Stangor's body without even glancing at it. Spike cocked an eyebrow at Angel. "Loose ends?"

Angel stood silently, avoiding Spike's gaze. Gunn looked from one to the other and rolled his eyes.

"Okay, I get it. We're not gonna talk about the elephant in the kitchen yard. That's cool. No reason I have to know anything. Just because there's a new-and-improved, non-combustible Spike standing here in front of me, right out in the middle of the blazing sunlight…not burning up. Not like it's any big deal."

Spike was undeterred. "Again…loose ends?"

Gunn snorted then shrugged. "Raiders may think they're free and clear, but Tondor and the others have a little surprise waiting for them as soon as they start to cross the river. Gonna be real sorry they ever tried to lure us away on a wild goose chase."

"Figured you had something planned," Buffy said. "So that's why you weren't here? They set up a diversion to get you out of town?"

"Yeah." Angel nodded.

"Almost worked, too," Gunn added.

"So how did you know?"

Angel snorted. "Please! We're not stupid. Unlike somebody I know, we've got more than half a brain between us." He directed a sour look at Spike.

Spike studied Angel with narrowed eyes then turned to Gunn.

"Didn't have a clue, did you?"

Gunn shook his head. "Man, we were so big with the not knowing. If we hadn't stumbled across that sentry they posted, we'd have been halfway to Wild Goose Land by now."

Angel ignored the exchange. "Buffy, you wanted to tell me something?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell. You just can't let it go, can you?"

"Uh…Spike…" Gunn's voice sounded strange.

"No. I can't. Buffy?"

Gunn broke in again. "Guys, I think we should save this for later."

"Spike was sick, too," Buffy said. "Like you were. But he…woke up too soon. I think Spike is—"

"On fire," Gunn finished.

Buffy frowned. "No, he—"

"He's on fire. Now. See?" Gunn pointed.

Three pairs of eyes focused on Spike. In the same instant, he felt a familiar sensation.

"Ow."

His hands were smoking. As were other exposed parts of him.

"Ow," Spike repeated, eyes widening. Then, "_Ow! Ow! Ow!_" Each one escalated in intensity.

This time, he really had started to burn.

* * *

TBC in Chapter Twenty


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:** Did some writing over the recent holiday, and I've managed to finish another chapter of "Marking Time." My aim is to keep the momentum going so I can finally wrap up the story by the end of the year at the latest.

That means skipping polishing and revisions for now. I tend to get bogged down in it. Kind of have a hard time letting go. Heh. So I've come up with a plan to write straight through to the end, posting as I finish each chapter, and holding off on revisions till it's done.

That said, I welcome any and all suggestions/corrections. Please, please don't hesitate to let me know if you spot any problems. I'll go back and fix or work on it after I'm done or try to address it in the next chapter. Which hopefully will also be posted soon, since it's half written. (This chapter was running too long so I had to cut it off.)

In the meantime, hope you enjoy the new chapter. As usual, it starts with a recap of the previous chapters to get you up to speed without having to re-read. (Almost longer than the chapter itself. Ha!)

And away we go…

**Recap:** Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what _that_ would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway.

Shortly after arriving in the alternate dimension, the two get a little…um…distracted. Then Buffy says something stupid and Spike says something stupid and…well, I think you can see where this is heading. And then things really heat up...literally...when that pesky NFA dragon shows up. But that's nothing compared to what happens once Buffy finally tracks down Angel. It's _deja vu_ with the Angel kissage, though Buffy's heart isn't in that relationship anymore. But good luck convincing Spike of that when he sees them and storms off. So this time it's Buffy who's chasing after Spike, but that doesn't work out so well, and now they find themselves at a bit of a stalemate.

In the meantime, daylight strands them at an inn and tavern (since Spike and sunshine aren't mixy things) where a newly shanshued Angel and a fully recovered Gunn have been living for months with a local family. While Spike catches up with Gunn, Angel and Buffy have a long heart-to-heart. Angel realizes Buffy loves Spike and wants a future with him. And Buffy is convinced Spike's mysterious coma was actually part of the Shanshu process and that her attempts to wake him up have prevented him from becoming human.

Buffy feels a wee bit guilty and starts avoiding Spike, who knows something is up but isn't having much luck cornering his slayer. Angel thinks Buffy wants a human Spike. Spike thinks Buffy wants a vampire Angel. Buffy dreads having to tell Spike that he's lost his Shanshu because of her.

Before anything can be resolved, Angel and Gunn rush off to hunt down a band of demon raiders, also sucked into this dimension when Angel and Gunn were, leaving the way open for a long-overdue discussion between our two hard-headed blondes. Because it's Spike and Buffy, more arguing, misunderstandings and revelations ensue, ending with Buffy's big confession.

But just when it seems they're about to get it all hashed out, those pesky raiders attack, eventually overpowering a badly outnumbered Buffy. When the ruthless raider chief threatens to slice and dice the slayer, Spike has only one choice left. To charge out into the lethal light of day in a hopeless attempt to save her. Buffy's agonized yell is the last thing he hears as he starts to burn.

Only guess what? The sun stings a bit, but Spike's not really on fire. Which means he and Buffy can stand in the harsh light of day indulging in their favorite pastime—arguing with each other. Much to the annoyance of the raider chief, of course, who thinks they aren't taking him seriously enough. But Angel does, and pretty soon the raider chief is history. Which leads to even more arguing and…uh-oh! This time Spike really is burning…

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY

Weapons bag in hand, Buffy paused halfway down the stairs, looking for Spike as she scanned the inn's near-deserted common room and adjoining tavern.

The day that wouldn't end was finally drawing to a close, which made her profoundly grateful. She was so ready to leave this place and get back to her own world. A place where night and day came and went in a reasonable amount of time, and strangers didn't stare and whisper just because they saw you snacking a couple of times in the 15 hours that separated lunch and dinner.

It had been that long, and then some, since the raider attack and Spike's near brush with immolation. The escaping demons had been dealt with, Tondor was safely reunited with his family, and Buffy had spent the last few hours in her room, tossing and turning and worrying about Spike.

Once it had become clear he wasn't impervious to sunlight, they had all joined him in a mad dash to the inn. By the time they'd made it inside, Spike had sustained second-degree burns. Most were on his hands; one marred his left cheekbone.

Reema had swung into action, herding Spike to the nearest seat and fussing over him as she applied a homemade ointment meant to ease pain and protect wounds. At the same time, she ordered her eldest daughter to look after Buffy's cuts and scrapes.

Buffy had been less than thrilled. She could tell Nareetha felt the same. Apparently, so could Angel, who quietly intervened, snagging the tray filled with wet rags and salve from Nareetha's hands as he guided Buffy to a nearby chair. Neither woman protested.

With first aid underway, the debate resumed over what had really happened. Spike blamed the dimension's unusual sun. Angel loudly disputed this but remained conspicuously silent on the subject of Spike's mysterious coma. Buffy pointed to the prophecy yet again, and Spike continued to resist.

In the end, Gunn suggested turning to the _Lupwa_.

"Anything magical or mystical? They'll know. And their compound isn't that far. Spike can't go to them, but maybe I can talk them into coming here." Meeting Angel's skeptical gaze, he shrugged. "They're not big on the venturing forth, but it's worth a shot."

He'd left then, heading out to saddle a _hemoth_ for the ride into the woods, and returned faster than anyone had expected, the trio of healers following in his wake. Elderly men, they were dressed in plain, coarse-looking robes, with craggy features and long gray hair hanging in multiple braids around their shoulders. Trundling up to the door in a rickety wooden chariot, they stood erect, gazes fixed straight ahead, appearing none too pleased to be there.

As it turned out, appearances were not deceiving. The _Lupwa_ ignored Gunn's attempted introductions, their faces reflecting identical sour expressions as they descended the built-in steps at the rear of the chariot and entered the inn. They zeroed in on Spike before Gunn could even point him out.

Spike eyed their approach with a wary expression but surprised Buffy by remaining silent. As the healers formed a triangle around him, she saw him tense a bit. When they did nothing more than close their eyes, he snorted and relaxed.

The men stood that way for what seemed like an hour but couldn't have been more than five minutes. During that time, Spike never once looked her way.

Finally, the drawn-out silence became nearly unbearable. Buffy could see the same tension reflected in the other faces around her, especially Spike's. But just as he seemed on the verge of rebelling, the _Lupwa_ healers bowed their heads, lifted their arms and, like a trio of synchronized swimmers, began what Tondor later identified as the ritual Dance of Completion.

When they came to a halt, the "diagnosis" was pronounced. Spike, it seemed, was "between."

"Between?" Buffy pushed past Gunn, planting herself in front of the tallest healer, the only one who had actually spoken. "What does that mean? Between what?"

He stared down at her as if assaulted by a foul odor. But after a long moment of silence, he confirmed what she already suspected. "The _ten'ak_ is more than what he was and less than what he is. We can tell you nothing more."

With that, the healers turned as one and seemed to glide, more than walk, toward the door.

"Wait! You mean like…first he was human and then he was a vampire, right? And now he's…both?"

Spike growled. "Told you, I'm not human. Not anywhere close. Think I would know if I'd suddenly developed a pulse. And what the bloody hell do you mean by _ten'ak_?"

The _Lupwa_ ignored them both, clearly intent on leaving, but Angel stepped forward to block their path. He bowed, slowly and with greater ceremony than Buffy ever would have expected from him.

"We ask your pardon, but there's one more thing we would know, if the wise _Lupwa_ will grant us that gift."

Taking their cue from Angel, they all waited as the same healer Buffy had addressed pondered the matter. When he finally nodded his assent, Angel bowed again. "We need to understand what's happened. Why Spike…why the _ten'ak_…has changed."

The healer shook his head. "It is not for us to speak of this. Only They Who Exist Between have the answers you seek."

Spike glared. "Right. Guess that would be me, then, and I've already told you, I'm not—"

Gunn interrupted. "I think he means The Powers." As the others looked at him, he shrugged. "It's one of those things that came with the brain upgrade. We call them The Powers That Be, but they have other names, too."

Angel gave a resigned sigh. "Of course they do."

While Buffy didn't understand everything Gunn had said, she latched on to the important part. "So where do we find these Between/Power guys?"

Gunn shook his head, his expression pained. "Wish I could tell you. Got a bunch of knowledge that was shoved into my brain and most of the time I don't even know all the crazy-ass stuff that's in there. Kind of just pops out. Usually when I need it, but…not always."

Spike shot him a sour look. "And would it be telling you what a _ten'ak_ is?"

Angel turned back to the _Lupwa_. "They Who Exist Between…how do we find them?"

The master healer regarded them all with raised eyebrows. "They cannot be found. As I have said, they exist Between."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, well, there goes the neighborhood."

Angel pressed harder. "In my world, there were ways to communicate with them. I think a master healer of the  
_Lupwa_ would know those ways. Is there an Oracle we can seek out? Maybe a Conduit or two?" When the _Lupwa_ failed to respond, his expression grew more intense. "Please. We need to reach them. It's important."

The healer turned slightly, as if holding silent communion with his brethren. Then he turned back. "There is a way. To know more, you must seek. But for those who seek, there is no return."

Buffy frowned. "Seek where?"

"Like the man said…Between," Gunn murmured. He straightened, looking around as if waking from a deep sleep. "They're in the void…the trans-dimensional plane between worlds. That's why we can't go there. If we go, there's no coming back." He looked at the _Lupwa_. "That's right, isn't it?"

The healers bowed their heads in unison. Then they turned and moved single file to the door. Exiting the room and the inn, they left an uneasy silence in their wake.

Seconds passed. Gunn cleared his throat. "Well, at least that tells us what we need to know. Sort of."

Spike snorted. "Speak for yourself, Charlie boy. Only thing I want to know is what the bloody hell they mean calling me a _ten'ak_."

Now, hours later, the memory of Spike's dogged disgruntlement brought a wry smile to Buffy's face. He'd been more concerned with a potential insult to his honor than about anything else they'd learned. But with Reema's help—and Gunn's interpretation skills—he'd finally been persuaded that "_ten'ak_" was not, in fact, a derogatory remark, but merely the _Lupwa_ term for "patient."

It was at that point Tondor had arrived, much to the vocal relief of his wife and daughters. After a touching family reunion, he confirmed the fate of the retreating raiders. Then a stern Reema had declared it "sleep time" for the non-natives in the room and shooed them off to their respective beds for a few hours' rest.

Between that, Angel's concerned hovering, and the exhaustion Buffy could no longer deny, any private talk she'd hoped to have with Spike was put on hold. From across the room, their gazes had met and held, but she couldn't read his expression. When she'd stood and moved toward the stairs, he had lagged behind, thwarting her once again.

Later, she'd lain in bed half expecting to hear a familiar knock at the door. He'd always come to her, whether she wanted him to or not. But all those months he'd been back without telling her proved things had changed.

Why would he even _want_ to talk to her? He scoffed at the prophecy, but only to spare her feelings. She knew that. It had been his and she'd taken it away. No matter how much he cared about her, that had to hurt.

Following a mostly sleepless "night," Buffy had risen, dressed and made her way to Spike's room, hoping to find him awake and ready to talk. Instead, she'd discovered a bed that clearly hadn't been slept in, with only the weapons bag stuffed beneath it.

Hearing a noise in the hall, Buffy had grabbed the bag, thinking to use it as an excuse for being there. Then she'd mentally kicked herself. She didn't need to pretend. That was the whole point of what she'd come to say, right?

So she'd waited, but the sounds had passed on by without pausing at the door. Frustrated and still gripping the bag, she'd left the room, heading off to the second most likely place to find him.

And there he was, sitting at a table in a secluded corner of the tavern, nursing a tankard of ale or possibly blood.

Except…he wasn't alone.

Nareetha stood next to the table, holding his hand, lips curved in a sultry smile as she bent down to thrust her overly generous bosom into his face. And from where Buffy stood, it looked like Spike was appreciating the cleavage assault just a little too much.

Jealous Buffy grabbed a stake, Adult Buffy went poof, and the inner struggle ended almost before it started.

Which left her with only one thing to do.

* * *

TBC in Chapter Twenty-One


	21. Chapter 21

**Author's Note:** Back with another installment of Marking Time. Previous parts can be found here. This chapter got a wee bit long, so I've split it into two. Should be posting the next one very soon. Just have a teeny bit to finish up.

Hope this one is not too heavy handed. I want my characters to be…well…in character. Heh. Usually I feel like I'm a pretty fair judge of my own efforts, but this one I'm not sure about. Going without a beta is a definite drawback here, especially since I'm trying to write faster to get things wrapped up.

Like before, please, please don't hesitate to let me know if you spot any problems. If it's not a quick fix, I'll go back and work on it after I'm done or try to address it in the next chapter.

Anyhoo, here's the next bit, with the usual detailed recap so you don't to go back and re-read. I'm not sure, but I think I can officially claim the title for World's Longest-Running Work in Progress that's still…you know…actually in progress. ::facepalm::

**Recap:** Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what _that_ would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway.

Shortly after arriving in the alternate dimension, the two get a little…um…distracted. Then Buffy says something stupid and Spike says something stupid and…well, I think you can see where this is heading. And then things really heat up...literally...when that pesky NFA dragon shows up. But that's nothing compared to what happens once Buffy finally tracks down Angel. It's _deja vu_ with the Angel kissage, though Buffy's heart isn't in that relationship anymore. But good luck convincing Spike of that when he sees them and storms off. So this time it's Buffy who's chasing after Spike, but that doesn't work out so well, and now they find themselves at a bit of a stalemate.

In the meantime, daylight strands them at an inn and tavern (since Spike and sunshine aren't mixy things) where a newly shanshued Angel and a fully recovered Gunn have been living for months with a local family. While Spike catches up with Gunn, Angel and Buffy have a long heart-to-heart. Angel realizes Buffy loves Spike and wants a future with him. And Buffy is convinced Spike's mysterious coma was actually part of the Shanshu process and that her attempts to wake him up have prevented him from becoming human.

Buffy feels a wee bit guilty and starts avoiding Spike, who knows something is up but isn't having much luck cornering his slayer. Angel thinks Buffy wants a human Spike. Spike thinks Buffy wants a vampire Angel. Buffy dreads having to tell Spike that he's lost his Shanshu because of her.

Before anything can be resolved, Angel and Gunn rush off to hunt down a band of demon raiders, also sucked into this dimension when Angel and Gunn were, leaving the way open for a long-overdue discussion between our two hard-headed blondes. Because it's Spike and Buffy, more arguing, misunderstandings and revelations ensue, ending with Buffy's big confession.

But just when it seems they're about to get it all hashed out, those pesky raiders attack, eventually overpowering a badly outnumbered Buffy. When the ruthless raider chief threatens to slice and dice the slayer, Spike has only one choice left. To charge out into the lethal light of day in a hopeless attempt to save her. Buffy's agonized yell is the last thing he hears as he starts to burn.

Only guess what? The sun stings a bit, but Spike's not really on fire. Which means he and Buffy can stand in the harsh light of day indulging in their favorite pastime—arguing with each other. Much to the annoyance of the raider chief, of course, who thinks they aren't taking him seriously enough. But Angel does, and pretty soon the raider chief is history. Which leads to even more arguing and…uh-oh! This time Spike really is burning.

Gunn gets the bright idea to contact the _Lupwa_ in hopes this trio of mystical healers can tell them what's up with Spike. In their cryptic way, they seem to confirm Buffy's belief that Spike was the intended recipient of the Shanshu Prophecy…until she messed things up. But the only ones to know for sure are The Powers That Be and they're not talking. So Buffy's feeling pretty guilty. Until she spots Spike and Nareetha getting a little too flirty, and now she's a jealous woman with a mission…

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Buffy took the remaining stairs in a rush, heading straight for Spike and Nareetha. She tried to do it without stomping, going instead for a guided-missile effect. Or maybe a slayer-shaped thundercloud rolling across the room, most definitely ready to rain on somebody's parade.

Spike spotted her first. For a fleeting second, he had that same guilty-busted-boyfriend expression he'd worn when she caught him flirting with Faith in the basement of her old home. Then it vanished behind an air of exaggerated innocence, the kind that only Spike could pull off. But he watched her with a wary gaze that lessened the effect.

Buffy drew closer, noticing a pile of discarded bandages on the table next to an open jar of ointment. It seemed Miss I'm-a-Big-Ho had come to doctor what was left of Spike's burns. Hence the hand hold-age Buffy had witnessed from across the room.

Didn't matter. It was long past time to set things straight.

Halting next to the table, Buffy dropped the weapons bag. She ignored Spike for the moment and turned to Nareetha instead, answering the woman's less-than-welcoming glare with a brilliant smile. "Let's make it easy and cut to the chase. The way you're throwing yourself at Spike? You should stop. Seriously. I mean, sure, he's going to look. He's a guy. And I know he's all flirty and head-tilting." She shrugged. "That's the way he's wired. But you can bat your eyelashes and shake your mariachis at him, or invite him to sample your cookies all you want…you're just wasting your time. He's not here for the long haul. Or any haul, even if we weren't leaving. Because when you get right down to it? He's a one-woman kind of guy. And you…" She paused for emphasis. "…are not the woman. Sorry."

Buffy started to turn away, then stopped. "Oh, and don't worry about the doctoring." She scooped up the jar of ointment from the table without missing a beat or breaking eye contact. "I can take it from here."

Still smiling sweetly, she muscled Nareetha out of the way and slid onto the bench next to Spike. Taking his hand, she went to work applying fresh ointment, pretending not to notice the woman's heated glare or Spike's bemused gaze. Even though he wasn't healing as fast as he normally would, it was clear the worst of his burns had faded. He didn't really need the ointment anymore, but she continued to slather it on. More for her benefit than his —and to keep someone's grabby hands off of her boyfriend.

Speaking of Super Slut…

"You say, but I do not hear _him_ say."

Buffy looked up. Nareetha stood defiantly, hands on curved hips, more-than-generous chest thrust forward. Her full lips curved in a seductive smile as she turned her smoldering gaze on Spike.

_Time to put it all on the line, Buffy._ "Spike?"

Feeling his gaze on her, she turned to meet it. Tried and failed to decipher his expression. Wondered what he made of her own. And somewhere along the way, she forgot to breathe.

Then he looked at Nareetha. "Sorry, pet. Appreciate the concern and all, but…" He shrugged apologetically.

Buffy allowed herself a tiny smirk of satisfaction—and a faint sigh of relief—as the angry swish of skirts signaled the woman's retreat to the kitchen.

Spike fell silent again, and Buffy waited as several seconds ticked by. Finally, he arched an eyebrow. "Shake your mariachis?"

Buffy raised her chin. "Well, she did." Though intended to be defiant, it came out defensive instead. "It was kind of hard to miss, the way she was waving them in your face right in the middle of a public place."

"Yeah, well. Think you meant 'maracas,' love."

She blinked. Then frowned. "I said what I meant, and I meant what I said."

Head tilting, he looked at her. "Fancy you did. But her family's been more than decent to us, Buffy. Not really right to disrespect one of them in their own home."

Oh, god. Had it actually come to this? Spike gently lecturing her on good manners?

"And…cookies?"

She felt her face flush. "Not going there," she warned as she reached for his other hand.

More ointment. More stalling. Another chance slipping away.

Buffy took a deep breath. "I went by your room to get the weapons bag. You were supposed to be resting."

"Did for a bit. Got hungry." He arched an eyebrow. "Supposed to get some rest yourself."

She gave him a wry smile. "Did for a bit. Got bored."

He returned the smile but looked uncertain, as if trying to puzzle out something he couldn't quite decipher.

Buffy glanced away and found herself looking at a window across the room where the last telltale rays of sunlight were rapidly fading. In their secluded corner, a pair of burning wall sconces provided most of the illumination. The darker it got, the deeper the flickering shadows grew. Almost time to leave for the portal.

Realizing she'd started rubbing ointment onto already-treated burns, Buffy released Spike's hand. "Your bed was all neat. Didn't look like you'd even been there."

This time she couldn't see the arched eyebrow. But she felt it.

"Believe it or not, pet, I do know how to make a bed. Even been known to do it, once or twice."

"Oh. Right." She fell silent again, still avoiding his searching gaze. Why was it that she knew where she wanted to go but not quite how to get there? Spike, of course, wasn't helping. Neither was this whole weird vibe thing going on between them.

Before the raiders' untimely interruption, she'd told him how she felt and it seemed like she was finally getting through to him. Now it seemed like they were…not back to square one, exactly, but…she didn't really know where. It was throwing her off balance.

Looking down, Buffy nudged the weapons bag with her toe. "Next time we're stranded in another dimension, remind me not to let this out of my sight. Sure could have used it when the raiders attacked." She didn't know which made her cringe more—her painfully peppy tone or her retreat into small talk. Next thing you know, she'd start babbling about the weather.

"Oh, I dunno." Spike treated her to an admiring look that made her feel all warm and appreciated. "Did all right with your pretty little pitchfork."

Absurdly pleased, she shrugged self-consciously. "Yeah, well, you know me. I'm all about the improvising."

Then scooping out another dab of ointment, she smoothed it over his reddened cheekbone. Of their own volition, her fingers lingered on the sharp planes of his face as she lost herself in eyes that were so very, very blue. In fact, the longer she looked, the more she could swear that beautiful blue was changing, growing deeper and even more intense. So deep she could fall in and lose herself and not even care.

His head tilted again, and Buffy really wished he'd stop doing that. She was verging on head-tilt overload. It did funny things to her. Made it hard to think. Made her want to do something, like…like…

A steel tankard hit the wooden tabletop with a loud _thunk_, startling them both.

Mega Ho was back.

The woman ignored Buffy and leaned across the table, bringing her face close to Spike's as she gave him a close-up view down the front of her dress. "More nourishment before your journey." She nodded at the tankard. "Warm _yak'loth_ blood. Charles said you will take strength from it." Lingering there, she gathered up the discarded bandages, keeping her chest at Spike's eye level.

"You want more…you want anything…you find me. I will take good care of you."

Then she straightened, her triumphant gaze challenging Buffy, who had fallen back into reality with a hard thud. Taking a slow, deep breath, apparently the better to strain full breasts against a low-cut bodice, she gave Spike a sultry smile before turning and sashaying back to the kitchen. This time, her retreat was slow and calculated, hips swaying seductively with each deliberate step. Spike watched her go, eyes following until she vanished through the kitchen door.

And Jealous Buffy came roaring back.

"Gee, now there's an offer you obviously don't want to resist," she noted grimly, hiding the hurt with a caustic edge to her voice. "So why don't you go after her? Give her a _private_ goodbye. I'll just get out of your way."

Jumping up, she grabbed the weapons bag. Spike caught her before she could take more than a few steps.

"Buffy, wait!" He grabbed her elbow then just as quickly dropped it, his voice placating, his eyes soft. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot. A right git. Don't blame you for being upset. But it wasn't what you think, I promise you."

She stared at him, stone-faced.

"I just wanted you to…" He looked away, then back again. Waved his hand in a vague gesture and sighed. "Just wanted to give you a taste of what it's like for me when you're around Angel. It was stupid, all right?"

Buffy blinked. Then glared. "Did you recently suffer a traumatic brain injury, or do you _really_ not care how big a hole you're digging for yourself?"

Spike closed his eyes and nodded, resignation written in every line of his face. "Told you before. Don't exactly have a reputation for being a thinker. I made a wrong bloody call. Sorry for it."

She looked away, not wanting him to see the effect his words had on her. How they called to mind that night in Sunnydale when he'd poured out his heart and given her the strength to go on. How they robbed her of her anger and soothed her ruffled insecurities.

"C'mon, love." His voice softened, coaxing her. "Can't seriously think there's anyone in this dimension or any other could hold a candle to you. Come on back to the table, now, yeah?"

Buffy stared at his chest, mulling it over before finally acquiescing with a tiny nod. She led the way back to the table but this time took the bench opposite his. By then, sappy feelings had receded somewhat and a new realization had reared its ugly head.

She scowled at him. "So let me get this straight. You put her up to that, hoping to make me jealous?"

Spike shook his head. "Didn't put her up to anything. Was all her. But I admit…took advantage of it and didn't do much to discourage her. That part was all on me."

Then, because he obviously _had_ suffered a traumatic brain injury…

"To be fair, though, Buffy," he added, with the air of someone feeling his way through an uncharted minefield, "you did provoke her. She's a nice girl. Been nothing but kind to me since we got here."

She felt her eyes go wide, then narrow, pinning him with her patented death glare. He had told her once it could dust a vamp at thirty paces. Maybe now was a good time to try that out.

"I just _bet_ she has. And of _course_ you didn't discourage her. Why would you? She's exactly your type, right?"

Spike was staring at her, much like a doomed building might regard an oncoming bulldozer. "Seein' as there's no answer here that won't get me into trouble, I suppose you're gonna tell me what that type is?"

"Oh, you know…the Big Fat _Ho_ type."

Lifting her chin, Buffy waited. For a long moment, Spike just stared. Then, taking a deep breath and expelling it in a long sigh, he grasped the tankard of blood Nareetha had brought him, tipped his head back and took a giant swig. Setting it down, he used the edge of a thumb to wipe away a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. When he finally spoke, his words were quiet and measured, but the intensity of his piercing gaze left her feeling a little wobbly.

"Think you know my type, love. And it's not tall, dark and overly voluptuous."

A delicious shiver ran up her spine and a whole bevy of butterflies took up residence in her stomach. But Jealous Buffy had a few more axes to grind. Quashing the tingles, she feigned contrition. "You're right. I'm sorry. I should have said tall, blue and _hellgod_."

She accompanied this with another glare that should have dealt a deadly blow. So why did his incredulous gaze make her feel like a babbling basket case, instead?

"That's not the first time the wind has blown in this direction. What the _bloody_ _hell_ are you on about?"

"I'm '_on_' about Her Royal Ho-ness! You know, your blue-haired honey? The God Ho formerly known as Fred?"

Some part of Buffy knew she was taking this too far, but ever since she'd learned about his previous intimate relationship with Illyria, it had rankled. Now that Nareetha had poked a hole in the dam, Buffy couldn't seem to plug it back up.

Brow furrowed, Spike spoke slowly. "Look, Buffy…not sure where this is coming from. I get that you and Blue don't get along. She's not the easiest, I'll give you that. But once you make it past the 'you're all muck beneath my feet' remarks, she's really not such a bad sort."

"For a ho, you mean?"

"You keep sayin' that. Did something happen while I was out? I know I wasn't with her every waking second, but unless Wesley got lucky there toward the end, I'm fairly certain she's pure as the driven. In this form, at least. And in the particular sense _you_ mean." Spike raised the tankard of blood to his lips and took another swig.

"Really? Then why did she tell me you had _sex with her_?" she demanded.

* * *

TBC in Chapter Twenty-Two


	22. Chapter 22

**Author's Note:** Back with another installment of Marking Time.

We're moving right along here with a little silliness, a little action, a little angst and a big heart-to-heart. In the interests of wrapping up the story, I'm forgoing the usual polishing. As usual, criticism and corrections are always welcome.

I really think this part works better if you can start with the previous chapter and read it straight through. I didn't want to split them up, but they were just too long to keep as one part. So if you've got the time and inclination, go back and read Chapter 21 again first. ::imploring eyes::

And with that in mind, don't hold me to it since this isn't the first time I've had to split up chapters that ran longer than expected, but I'm thinking about three more should do it! ::fingers crossed::

For those who need a refresher, a complete recap can be found at the beginning of Chapter 21. But we left off with Jealous Buffy seriously dissing Illyria, Spike totally baffled, and the last line:

"Really? Then why did she tell me you had _sex with her_?" she demanded.

* * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Spike's spit take would have left Xander green with envy. Buffy wrinkled her nose as she aimed a sour look at the spattering of blood now decorating the wooden tabletop.

Spike was too busy sputtering to notice. "What did you say?" He gaped at her.

"I think you heard me," Buffy ground out, teeth clenched.

Wiping his chin with the back of his hand, he studied her with a bewildered gaze. "Heard it. Just don't believe it. Why would she say somethin' like that?"

"I don't know, Spike! You tell me. She looked me straight in the eye and told me how much she '_enjoyed_' having _intercourse_ with you," Buffy accused, making vicious air quotes with her fingers. "Just like we were BFF's or something."

Spike stared at her for several beats then started to giggle. The harder she scowled, the more out of control he became. Buffy wanted to punch him and tried hard to remember why she didn't do that anymore. Instead, she sat there seething, waiting for him to stop.

Only he didn't. And finally Buffy got fed up waiting. Pushing up from the table, she whirled about, ready to storm off to her room…or the portal…or anywhere that wasn't here.

"_Verbal!_" Spike choked out.

She turned back, still scowling. "What?" More of a demand than a question.

"It was _verbal_ intercourse, she meant. Talking. She liked _talking_ to me." He sailed off into a fit of giggles again.

Buffy glared at him suspiciously. "That's not what she said."

Rising, he circled to her side of the table, invading her space in a way that, in another place and time, might have left her feeling a little lightheaded. But annoyance had rendered her immune. Totally. Absolutely positively.

"But it's what she meant. Made the same mistake myself once, when she said as much about Wesley. Though the way things were heading between them, probably would have made it there eventually." He looked into her eyes, his gaze steady and earnest. "The only hand I ever laid on her was a fist when we were trying to judge how much of a threat she was. I swear."

"Oh." Buffy fought to keep her ferocious frown, but she could already feel it transforming into something else. Something that…_oh no. Please, no._

"Buffy?" His voice caressed her. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?" Oh god. She was. She could hear it in her voice. She was pouting.

"Like…" He cocked his head. "…a jealous girlfriend."

_Well, duh._ She snorted, refraining from pointing out the obvious. She was tired of beating her head against a wall named Spike. Let him work it out for himself.

"Only…not your ordinary kind of jealous. It's more than that. Almost like…like you…"

It was the dawning light of wonder in his eyes that pushed her off the last ledge. The past few days she'd tried how many times and in how many ways to make him believe she really loved him, and _this_ was what finally did it?

Fine. If that's what it took to get it through his thick head…

"All right! I'm jealous, okay?" She threw her hands up. "Is that what you want to hear? It doesn't matter that you didn't sleep with her. That just makes it worse! I'm crazy jealous. I'm _so_ jealous I want to scratch her eyes out as soon as we get back home! Not punch her or toss her across the room or even gut her like a Kushnar demon. No, I just want to scream at her and bitch-slap her silly…scratch her face and pull her blue hair out by the roots! Do you know how _stupid_ that is for a slayer? How _girly_ and pathetic it makes me feel? But I don't care. When I looked at her, I saw someone who meant something to you. Even if it's not really her anymore. I saw someone you talked to, who gave you something I couldn't…or wouldn't. I know it's not reasonable and I know it's wrong, but there it is. And that whole Angel punching-bag thing? I totally get it now."

Not until she stopped to draw breath did Buffy notice how taken aback Spike seemed. Then he blinked once, giving her yet another head tilt, his gaze suffused by a warm glow.

"That right?" he drawled softly. But it didn't sound as knowing as it should have, and there was no sign of his patented smirk.

Buffy rolled her eyes, and with a sigh torpedoed the last of her pride. "Let's just say, if jealousy were the Super Bowl? I'd be the new dynasty."

She jerked her head toward the doorway where they'd last seen Nareetha. "And now there's this one…the one who _didn't_ cost you your destiny. The one who's not afraid to put it all out there. And I'm not talking cleavage, even though that's totally what she was doing. What I mean is…she knows what she wants and she's not afraid to…to admit it. To go after it. To risk looking like a fool or getting her heart broken. Assuming she has one," she muttered.

Turning back to the table, she dropped onto the bench she'd just vacated. Spike settled next to her, unusually silent. Which was just as well, because now that Buffy had started, she couldn't seem to stop.

"And about Fred? I think I get how you felt that night we found Angel. I mean, I got it. But now I _really_ get it. You had something special with the person she was before…and it hurts. She was there for you in a way that I wasn't. As much as that bothers me, that's never going to change. Any more than Angel being my first. So if we're going to make this thing work, I think we should make a deal. I'll put up with you getting all spastic about Angel as long as you don't expect me to make nice with the God King Formerly Known as Fred. Or any other female living in the same hemisphere as you. Except for Dawn…and Willow…and maybe Mrs. Hudson. Though I'm not entirely sure about Mrs. Hudson. I think she's kind of taken with you."

Looking up at him, she scowled. "Stop grinning."

"Can't help it. Always did like you in green." His voice, low and breathy now—a little growly, too—sent tiny tingles down her spine. She watched as he reached out, fingers resting on the table next to her hand. Close, but not quite touching. "And as far as my destiny goes, you didn't cost me anything, love. Nothing I can't live without."

She stared at their not-quite-joined hands. "Is that what I am?"

"Come again?"

"Your love?" Her voice was small.

"_Course_ you are." The fervency of his words helped soothe that still-raw wound. "Buffy…I know you're hurt I didn't come to you straight away, or let you know I was back. And, yes, I've looked at a woman or two since then, but none of them were you. None of them ever could be. That part hasn't changed. Never will. Reckon you'd know that by now."

Slowly, her gaze rose to meet his. She didn't try to hide anything-her love, her insecurity. "I thought I did, but ever since you woke up, you've made it kind of hard to know for sure. And our first night here, you said you'd finally let go."

His voice was still soft and low. "Got a hard head and a lot of hot air. Makes me say stupid things. Takes a bit of pounding for some things to sink in. Think you'd know that, too."

The look in his eyes made it hard to think, while the slow sweep of his lashes—down, then up—left her almost mesmerized, tempting her to reach up and kiss his eyelids closed. But something else niggled at her.

"What you said…just before the raiders came. You really believe I have a super-power fetish? That I…get off…on all the death and danger?"

His gaze softened even more. "Course not, love. Nothing wrong with wanting someone who's a match for you, but that's not what you're about. And nothing wrong with liking what you're good at. But that's not what you're about either." He sighed. "Truth is, I'm a right sodding bastard when I'm scared. You may not have been so far off the mark with that 'insecurity complex' thing."

"Inferiority, you mean," she reminded him.

He gave her the eye. "No. Bloody well _not_ inferior to the likes of them. Just have a hard time remembering it sometimes, is all."

Buffy looked down at his hand where it rested on the table next to hers. Feelings welled up in her so hard and fast she couldn't wait to be touching him. She slid her hand into his, strong fingers curling around hers.

"I'm not good at talking about stuff," she admitted. "I never have been. I can skewer one of those Tank-thingie demons without chipping a nail, but…" Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. "I don't just lay my heart out there. Once, maybe, but now… not so much." She gazed at him, hoping he could see it in her eyes. "Lately I've been trying to change that. I was hoping you'd noticed."

"Noticed. Just too stubborn to believe."

"But you do now, right? I mean, you talk about being scared, but you're the most fearless person I know. Especially when it comes to taking chances. Putting yourself out there. Letting yourself feel. Never giving up."

He huffed softly. "Not so fearless anymore. Said it yourself. Soul tends to do that."

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

She looked down at their joined hands. "You knew it was the prophecy, all along. You just don't want me to feel responsible."

"You're not responsible, love. Prophecies are tricky things. You should know. But they have a way of coming true no matter what we do. Thing is, they don't always tell the full story, do they? Like that first time you died. Prophecy said you would. But you didn't stay dead, did you? And you still beat The Master."

She nodded slowly. "Okay. Point made and taken." She met his searching gaze. "Except for one thing. 'One girl in all the world,' remember? Only not so much anymore."

"Buffy—"

"You keep pretending it doesn't matter, but it does. I _know_ it does. It was yours, Spike. It belonged to you first. Your destiny. And no matter what you say now, I know you wanted it. It wasn't meant for Angel. It should've been you."

Buffy was too preoccupied to realize they weren't alone anymore. Spike must have been, too, because the soft, throat-clearing sound behind them clearly startled him as much as it did her.

Breaking off, she turned…

"Angel."

She didn't know how long he'd been there, but it must have been long enough. His expression was a little too neutral, his stance a little too stiff. Rising, she took a step forward.

"Angel, I—"

"Sun's down. If we want to have any chance of finding that portal still open, we need to go." He glanced away then back. "There are some goodbyes I need to make. We'll meet out front in five." Then he was gone, striding toward the kitchen door.

A sharp pang shot through Buffy as she watched him go. She'd hurt him. Again. It was the last thing she'd wanted, but she didn't know how to make this easier for him. Nothing between them had ever been simple, even when she'd thought they were meant for each other.

She'd been wrong about that. Maybe she was wrong about the prophecy, too. But her gut feeling and basic logic told her she wasn't, no matter what Spike might want her to believe.

Looked like she was on a roll. Robbing Angel of his hope. Depriving Spike of his destiny. She couldn't do anything about Angel, but…

"If you want to go after him…" Spike's soft voice rumbled in her ear. "Won't hold it against you."

In a single fluid movement, Buffy turned and threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging his head down to hers, plundering his mouth with wild abandon. It took less than a heartbeat for him to respond as he caught her up against his chest, hands splayed possessively across her back, returning the kiss with equal fervor. She lost herself in the sensations—tugging harder, pressing closer. Wanting him everywhere—on her, around her, inside her.

Then she broke off the kiss, both of them panting hard, clutching harder, foreheads touching. Pulling back just enough, she stared into his eyes. Letting him see. Making sure he knew. Then she leaned in again, lips caressing his, this time slow and soft and filled with all the things she found so hard to express.

He responded in kind, the tenderness between them bringing her close to tears. When they parted again, she gazed up at him.

"No," she answered quietly. "Really don't." And melted in the warmth of his slow, sweet smile.

Gunn's amused hail made Buffy jump. "Hey, Blondie Bear! You two lovebirds coming or not?"

Spike closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering sigh. "Picked a hell of a time, Summers."

She bit her lip. "I know. Sorry."

He snorted softly then raised his voice, though his eyes never left hers. "Yeah, Charlie Boy. We're coming."

* * *

"You _sure_ you're not coming?" Spike asked Gunn. It was the third time he'd posed the question. He knew the answer, but now that they stood in front of the portal, he felt compelled to ask one last time.

""Yes. I'm sure," Gunn said, as if speaking to a hard-of-hearing, 90-year-old grandmother. "I told you. Got my reasons."

He couldn't resist. "And would one of those reasons be about 5-foot-2 with big brown eyes and a mum and dad who think mighty highly of you?"

Gunn shrugged. "Could be."

Spike eyed him curiously. "Don't know why you're playin' it so coy. Not like it's a big secret."

Gunn answered with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah? Look who's talking, Mr. Get A Room Already."

Spike answered with his own quirked eyebrow. At the same time, he cast a sideways glance at Buffy, who waited a short distance away, discreetly out of earshot, as first Angel then Spike took turns saying their goodbyes to Gunn.

Both she and Angel had been conspicuously quiet on the ride out. Angel had taken the seat next to Gunn, leaving the back of the wagon to Spike and Buffy. Spike knew why his grandsire was brooding, but he couldn't quite suss out the reason for Buffy's preoccupation. She'd given Angel a remorseful glance when they'd first met up again, but Spike would bet his Sex Pistols "Kiss This" CD that her silence had nothing to do with Angel's hurt feelings. More than likely, she was still fretting over the Shanshu prophecy.

Turning his attention back to Gunn, he smirked up at him. "Word of advice. Try not to go pissin' on any furniture, you hear? Might decide they don't want you anymore. Then we'd be stuck with you again."

Gunn's gaze narrowed. "Remind me why I'm not gonna be missing your sorry ass?"

For a few seconds, they exchanged glares. Then, as he had with Angel, Gunn pulled Spike into a giant bear hug that perhaps lasted a second or two longer than either would ever admit. They separated, nodding without speaking. Spike moved past Angel to stand next to Buffy, and all four of them turned to face the shimmering portal, where faint ripples against the dark were all that marked the spot.

Upon their arrival, Spike and Buffy had shared a silent look of relief to find it still active. But as Spike was all too aware, this could change at any moment. The power fueling it could wane, leaving them stranded here for an indefinite period of time. Or worse, leave them forever lost between dimensions.

Gunn seemed to share his concern. Backing off a bit, he looked first at Angel, then Spike, then Buffy. "Better hurry. And be sure and keep to the trans-dimensional path. The way Angel and I went in, we were damn lucky we didn't get stuck in there."

Spike snorted. "Hardly likely, Angel being teacher's pet and all. Not how The Powers reward their great and mighty champion, is it?"

"Are you done yapping yet?" Angel snapped. "Can we go now?"

Spike opened his mouth then closed it. Truth was, the whole snarking-at-Angel thing had suddenly lost its appeal. It was just no fun kicking his grandsire while he was down.

Raising his hand in a farewell gesture, Gunn jerked his head toward the shifting patch of darkness. "Last one into the magic portal is a rotten demon egg."

Angel stepped forward, stopping long enough to exchange a silent look with Buffy. When she nodded, he turned and dove head first into the portal. A brief flare of light marked his entry, accompanied by a roaring sound similar to an erupting geyser. Then nothing but quiet and darkness again.

Spike felt Buffy's hand slip into his, their fingers locking together. She stared up at him with an expression he couldn't quite make out. Then she smiled, reached up to give him a soft, brief kiss and tugged on his hand. He nodded. Together—hands still joined, side-by-side—they took a running leap into the portal…

…and slammed into chaos. As he had the first time through, Spike found his senses bombarded. He held tightly to Buffy's hand, even though he couldn't see her, or anything else—only flashing swirls of light as he hurtled through the void. A rushing sensation assailed him from all directions, though he couldn't feel himself moving, while a tremendous sense of pressure tore at him from inside and out.

It lasted forever, but was over in an instant. A bright light in front of him beckoned, drawing him inexorably forward. As the light touched him and the chaos began to wane, he felt Buffy's hand pull away, just before a strong shove propelled him head first into the light.

He hit the floor with a hard thud, landing on his back, one arm flung across Angel's leg. Around him, he could see the faces of Giles and Xander and Illyria, along with a whole passel of slayers he didn't recognize.

The swirling portal still loomed above him. But before he could move, a loud _whoosh_ filled the room as it winked out of existence.

They were home.

But without Buffy.

* * *

TBC in Chapter Twenty-Three


	23. Chapter 23

**Author's Note:** Here's the next chapter. Since the last two updates have been so recent, I'm foregoing the usual recap. If you need a refresher of earlier chapters, you can find it at the beginning of Chapter 21. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

CHAPTER 23

Buffy didn't know what was worse. Traveling along the trans-dimensional path, which had felt like trudging through quicksand at the same time she was streaking down the world's highest water slide, or…this. A vast, featureless void with nothing but shifting pink fog that made it impossible to see more than two feet in any direction.

It wasn't even a _nice_ shade of pink.

She looked around. Nothing. No trees. No roads. No convenient arrow signs that read "This way to The Powers That Be."

She sighed. Not exactly what she'd expected, though in all honesty, Buffy hadn't given this part of her plan much thought. The whole ride out to the portal had been devoted to imagining what she'd say to The Powers once she found them. The whole finding them part? She'd kind of skipped.

It had seemed so straightforward. Once she made sure Spike and Angel were safely back on the other side, she'd leave the path, confront The Powers, demand they complete Spike's transformation and then convince them to send her home, where she and a fully shanshued Spike could get on with their lives. Together.

Instead, she found herself wandering aimlessly around for what felt like days, though it couldn't possibly be. If it had been that long, she should be at least a little bit hungry, right? A little tired? She wasn't either of those things. She was only pissed off.

And the longer it took, the more pissed off she got. It was either that or give in to the growing kernel of fear generated by the tiny voice inside her head. The one that kept asking what she would do if she never found them.

Why couldn't things ever be simple in Buffy World? She just wanted to make things right. To fix what she'd messed up. Or…okay, technically coerce someone else into fixing it. But only because she didn't have the power to do it herself.

No matter how much Spike wanted to let her off the hook, Buffy knew she'd taken something special from him. Not to hurt him. She'd meant to save him. She understood that with her head. But her heart knew that good intentions didn't lessen the damage she'd done.

She couldn't give Spike what he wanted most—a Buffy who had never loved Angel. But maybe she could give him this. His destiny. His rightful place in the grand scheme of things. His chance to finally be the true Chosen One, instead of always feeling second best. Except that wasn't likely to happen if she spent the rest of eternity wandering around in circles.

Halting, Buffy planted both hands firmly on her hips and glared into the shifting mist.

"Okay, what do you want? An engraved invitation? Sorry. Not happening. I'm here. You know it. So what say we cut out the games and get this over with?"

Buffy waited. The mist swirled. Nothing but silence answered her.

Her gaze narrowed, the frustration building inside approaching a slow boil. "So we're not going to do this the easy way, huh? You want to be all avoidy about it? Fine. Won't do you any good. 'Cause guess what? I'm not budging." Folding her arms across her chest, she frowned. "Not that I'd know where to budge, even if I wanted to, but…so not the point."

Another pause. More silence. She cocked her head.

"Maybe you're ignoring me, hoping I'll give up and go away. Or maybe you're just really old and decrepit and totally hard of hearing. Like…you know…really old and decrepit things tend to be. But that's okay," she added, raising her voice a decibel or so, "because I can talk louder. And I can keep it up for a _reeeally_ long time. I'm The Slayer, remember? I've got super-strong lungs and apparently nothing better to do for the rest of eternity. Pretty cool, huh?"

Still no response. Buffy ramped it up a bit more. "And if that doesn't work, guess I'll have to get obnoxious and super annoying! Which won't be hard because, trust me…between my little sister and Spike? I've learned from the best. So let's see…where to start? _Ooh!_ I know! I—"

"Sweetheart, you don't have to yell. We're right here."

Buffy froze. _Oh god. That voice._

"Mom?" She whirled around, eyes straining to penetrate the fog. Looking this way and that.

There. Off to the right. She could barely make out a shape. It moved forward, materializing out of the mist. Sort of like a vampire dusting, only in reverse.

Her mother. Her mother was here.

"No, baby. Not your mother. I merely wear her image, plucked from your consciousness. No mind is equipped to see us as we truly are." She smiled. "Not even yours.

"I—"

Not-Joyce held up a hand, cutting her off. What looked like sincere affection warmed her gaze. "It's all right, honey. Take a minute to adjust. We know why you're here."

Buffy stared, trying desperately to gather her wits. Then another figure emerged from the mist, joining the first one. With a disapproving frown, it reached up to remove a familiar pair of spectacles and sighed. "Is this really necessary?" Not-Giles asked. "Under the circumstances, Buffy, your actions are reckless and entirely pointless. I have no idea what you hoped to accomplish by following such a rash course of action."

Great. They'd knocked her for a loop with the whole looking-like-her-mother thing. Now, before she could recover, they'd followed it with a double whammy. Who knew The Powers played so dirty?

Not-Joyce turned to her companion. "Don't be melodramatic," she scolded. "Of course, you know what she hopes to accomplish. We're conduits for The Powers, remember? She already knows we know." Looking back at Buffy, she smiled again and shrugged apologetically. "Sometimes we get a little too caught up in these borrowed identities. I suppose you could call it an occupational hazard."

Buffy swallowed, wishing she had some water for a suddenly too-dry mouth. But she'd come this far. Nothing would sidetrack her now. Folding her arms, she regarded them defiantly.

"I'm here. I have something to say. And whether you already know or not, I'm still going to say it." She took a deep breath. "That prophecy…the one about the vampire with a soul. That was about Spike, wasn't it?"

Not-Joyce nodded. "It was."

"But I messed it up."

"Yes. Obviously." Not-Giles gazed at her, his expression stern.

"We know you meant well, honey," Not-Joyce reassured her. "We _all_ know that. But it would have been better if you hadn't…intervened. Your actions changed what was meant to be."

Buffy bit her lip. Glancing away, then back, she lifted her chin. "So unchange it," she challenged.

"Sorry…what was that?" Not-Giles quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Give it back. Make him what he would have been if I hadn't…you know. Undo it or…redo it…or just plain do it. Whatever."

"Impossible," Not-Giles stated flatly. Then sighing, his voice softened. "Buffy, I know your intentions are good, but nothing can be done. It's simply too late."

"I don't accept that. What kind of wimpy Powers are they, anyway? Isn't there some magic reset button they can push? A kind of time-travel thingie they can do? Send me back! Give me a chance to do it over again. I'll know not to interfere this time."

Not-Joyce and Not-Giles exchanged a look.

"Honey, it doesn't work that way."

"Certainly not. There are balances to be maintained. A _quid pro quo_, so to speak."

Buffy frowned. "A _quid pro_ huh?"

"Such a momentous undertaking is not without cost. There is a price to be paid. One that would not be to your liking."

"But it is possible."

"Sweetheart…"

"Where's the other one?" Buffy demanded. "The one who talked to Spike. Was it one of you?"

Not-Giles regarded her warily. "Why do you ask?"

"I want to talk to that one. This conversation stops until I do."

The two doppelgangers exchanged another look. At the same moment, a third figure came striding out of the mist—a blue-haired Illyria look-alike dressed in skin-tight leather. Halting in front of Buffy, she scanned her up and down, her voice and everything else about her dripping with disdain. "You dare summon me?"

Buffy bristled inwardly but kept it all business. "You told Spike destiny could be rewritten. That means if a prophecy is un-written, it can be written back again, right?"

Not-Illyria cocked her head. Silent. Noncommittal.

"So what do you want from me? Trials? Torture? Badly needed fashion tips? Whatever it takes, just tell me."

Alien eyes appraised her. "You would risk your life? For a vampire."

"For this vampire? Oh, yeah."

Even as she spoke, a familiar tingle ran down her spine.

"The bloody buggering hell you will! You're not risking anything!"

She whirled, and there he stood. The vampire in question—with that sexy little twitch in his jaw and those glowering brows that accused her of god knows what. Of course, she knew exactly what, though she wasn't about to let that stop her. Raising her chin, Buffy glared back.

Spike stalked up to her, leaning down until they were almost nose-to-nose. "Have you lost your _sodding_ mind?" he demanded.

She didn't give an inch. "I know what I'm doing. And I don't know how you got here so fast, but this—"

"Fast?" He barked out a harsh laugh. "It's taken three bloody months just to get enough _mojo_ built up to open the portal again. Never mind the bleedin' trans-dimensional shift that lasted a hell of a lot longer than anyone expected."

Buffy blinked. Three months? There she went for another loop. Though she should have known her friends—and Spike, in particular—wouldn't rest until they'd found a way to save her. Speaking of which…

"How did you even get here? Giles said there was no being rescued if any of us got stuck."

Spike glowered at her. "Rupert had it right enough. Only none of us counted on Blue still having a trick or two up her sleeve. Problem is, it's strictly a one-way trip."

Buffy couldn't help stealing a glance at the Not-Illyria, even knowing she wasn't the genuine article. "So Illyria got you here?"

"With a boost from Red," Spike confirmed with a terse nod. "Everything it took out of her to hold open the portal for us and the girl's still got more _mojo_ than she knows what to do with. And did you even _hear_ what I said about the one-way trip?" he asked, everything about him screaming exasperation.

Buffy gazed back at him, unruffled. "I heard. Doesn't matter. I've got it covered." She glanced at the trio of doppelgangers, who stood silently observing. "Or…working on it, anyway."

"Yeah, gathered as much. Don't think so."

"Spike—"

"Shut it," he ground out, his voice low and dangerous.

Buffy gaped at him.

"That'll work, too," he observed then turned to face the watching trio. "So here's the thing. Slayer's the hero type and because she's got it in her head she has to carry the whole bloody world on her shoulders, she wants to make it right. Only I reckon that's not her call. Not yours either. It's mine."

Buffy's head turned to follow as Spike moved away, watching as he halted squarely in front of the three doppelgangers.

"Now I'll admit, I wanted the prophecy once. True enough. But I've had a lot of time to think it over in the last few weeks and I've come to realize something. I don't rightly fancy being Destiny's bitch.

"Angel can have the sodding Shanshu and everything that goes with it. I'm not dancin' to your little tune. Not letting you pull my strings. I'll keep fighting the good fight because it's what I want to do. But as of now, I'm doin' it my way on my own terms. I aim to make my own destiny. And if any of those so-called Powers That Might Be don't like it, they—"

"If I were you, I would consider my next words very carefully." Not-Giles stared at Spike long and hard.

"Yeah, well, at the risk of stating the obvious, you're not me. So bugger off."

Realizing she was still gaping, Buffy snapped her mouth shut just as Spike rounded on her.

"And you! "Do you even care what you've put everyone through these last weeks? Your friends? Your little sis? Me? And for what? Kept telling you I didn't want it, but you wouldn't listen. Could have saved us all a lot trouble if you had!"

Buffy couldn't help it. Her mouth dropped open again. "_Excuse me?_ You said you didn't believe in it. You said it wasn't yours but even if it was you could live without it. You never _once_ said you didn't _want_ it!" she shouted.

"Well, I'm sayin' it now!" he yelled back. "And even if I had wanted it, you can't just go throwin' your life away over it!"

"Why not? It's my life. Just like it was my life when I let you bite me!"

"When you—" He broke off, staring at her incredulously. "All right, first off…there was no _'_letting' me bite you involved. You bloody well seduced me into it when I wasn't in my right mind. And, second thing? Something tells me The Powers aren't too keen on their Chosen One running around trying to get herself offed on account of some vampire."

Buffy stalked over to Spike, fists clenching as she glared up at him. "Well, it's not up to them, is it? And just so I get this straight…when you came charging out into the sunlight, ready to go up in flames to save me from the raiders, _that_ was okay? But it's not okay if I take a risk to save _you?_"

Jaw rock-solid, he gave her a sharp nod. "Bloody right."

Buffy stared. "Oh my god. That is just so…"

"So what?" he shot back.

"So…aggravating, irritating, chauvinistic, stupid, moronic, arrogant and…wait…let me think. Oh, yeah. _Stupid!_"

"Already said that."

"I know!"

The eerie silence of the void pressed down on them as they stood at an impasse. Then Spike's gaze dropped, his voice softening. "Buffy…me not wanting the Shanshu…I know it's not what you want to hear. You being so keen on a normal life and all."

Buffy raised a hand. "Okay, before we go any further, let's get one thing straight. Normal? So over it. It was great for the first six months. Then I found myself actually _hoping_ for an apocalypse just to break up the mind-numbing monotony. Shopping, clubbing, more shopping, more clubbing. In between a little sightseeing, a little slaying and a day job to help pay the bills. Then more shopping. By the time I got the phone call from Giles telling me to come to England, I actually got excited because I knew something had to be wrong. What's _normal_ about that?"

Moving closer, she gazed up at Spike. "And even with all of our…baggage? Being with you again is still the best, most important thing I've done since Sunnydale. I may not see any white picket fences in my future, but I do see a hardheaded vampire, who loved me so much he went out and got a soul. And who has this totally irritating way of making life so much more interesting with him than without him. And for your information, whether he becomes a human or stays a vampire, _that's_ who I want to spend the rest of my life with."

Then she gave him a pointed look. "Unless I wind up dusting him first."

Spike spoke so softly she could barely hear him. "You sure, love?"

She nodded. "Yep. It's you, Spike…you're The One. Not Angel, not Reilly, not The Immortal or anyone else who might come along. As schmoopy as it sounds, I finally know. That shoe prophecy may not be your destiny anymore, but you're mine."

Then she was in his arms, his mouth hungry on hers, her body pressing hard against his. She returned his kisses, not even trying to hold back. What she felt was huge and fierce, and any moment she would shake apart from the sheer force of it.

Gradually, the kiss slowed and deepened, and at some point Buffy became aware of a discreet coughing. Reluctantly separating, Buffy and Spike turned as one to face the watching trio.

Not-Joyce greeted them with a sad smile, while an aloof Not-Illyria studied them curiously. Not-Giles coughed again.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, his tone apologetic, yet firm. "But, actually, he's not."

Buffy blinked, trying for something eloquent, but all that came out was…

"Huh?"

"Spike is not your destiny," Not-Giles told her gently. "You are meant for another. You were always meant for another, even though your paths have diverged for a time. As hard as it may be for you to hear at this moment, your _true_ destiny lies elsewhere. From the beginning, before you were even born, you were always meant for…"

"You'd bloody well better not say it," a darkly glowering Spike warned.

"Angel," Not-Giles finished. "Angel is your destiny."

* * *

TBC in Chapter Twenty-Four


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note:** Okay, this was supposed to be the penultimate chapter of Marking Time. Thing is, it got a little long so I had to break it up into two parts. I hope to finish up the next part, which should be the new penultimate chapter, over the weekend so it's ready to post next Sunday or Monday. After six long years, I'm _sooooo_ close to wrapping this puppy up! ::valiantly resisting the Snoopy Dance::

In the meantime, the usual recap kicks off Chapter 24…

**Recap:** Buffy gets a mysterious summons from Giles that takes her to his estate in England. There, she finds Spike who, along with Illyria, was teleported out of the NFA alley in the midst of the big battle. Only hitch is, he's in an unexplained comatose state, which may or may not have something to do with the infamous Shanshu prophecy.

Buffy finally figures out the quickest way to wake him up. (Any guesses as to what _that_ would be? Heh.) But Spike's a little pissed off that Buffy put her life at risk to do it, and Buffy's pissed that he's pissed. So…surprise, surprise…they're not really talking to each other the way they should be. Which makes rescuing Angel and Gunn from an alternate dimension just a wee bit tricky, but those stubborn kids are gonna give it a shot anyway.

Shortly after arriving in the alternate dimension, the two get a little…um…distracted. Then Buffy says something stupid and Spike says something stupid and…well, I think you can see where this is heading. And then things really heat up...literally...when that pesky NFA dragon shows up. But that's nothing compared to what happens once Buffy finally tracks down Angel. It's deja vu with the Angel kissage, though Buffy's heart isn't in that relationship anymore. But good luck convincing Spike of that when he sees them and storms off. So this time it's Buffy who's chasing after Spike, but that doesn't work out so well, and now they find themselves at a bit of a stalemate.

In the meantime, daylight strands them at an inn and tavern (since Spike and sunshine aren't mixy things) where a newly shanshued Angel and a fully recovered Gunn have been living for months with a local family. While Spike catches up with Gunn, Angel and Buffy have a long heart-to-heart. Angel realizes Buffy loves Spike and wants a future with him. And Buffy is convinced Spike's mysterious coma was actually part of the Shanshu process and that her attempts to wake him up have prevented him from becoming human.

Buffy feels a wee bit guilty and starts avoiding Spike, who knows something is up but isn't having much luck cornering his slayer. Angel thinks Buffy wants a human Spike. Spike thinks Buffy wants a vampire Angel. Buffy dreads having to tell Spike that he's lost his Shanshu because of her.

Before anything can be resolved, Angel and Gunn rush off to hunt down a band of demon raiders, also sucked into this dimension when Angel and Gunn were, leaving the way open for a long-overdue discussion between our two hard-headed blondes. Because it's Spike and Buffy, more arguing, misunderstandings and revelations ensue, ending with Buffy's big confession.

But just when it seems they're about to get it all hashed out, those pesky raiders attack, eventually overpowering a badly outnumbered Buffy. When the ruthless raider chief threatens to slice and dice the slayer, Spike has only one choice left. To charge out into the lethal light of day in a hopeless attempt to save her. Buffy's agonized yell is the last thing he hears as he starts to burn.

Only guess what? The sun stings a bit, but Spike's not really on fire. Which means he and Buffy can stand in the harsh light of day indulging in their favorite pastime—arguing with each other. Much to the annoyance of the raider chief, of course, who thinks they aren't taking him seriously enough. But Angel does, and pretty soon the raider chief is history. Which leads to even more arguing and…uh-oh! This time Spike really is burning.

Gunn gets the bright idea to contact the _Lupwa_ in hopes this trio of mystical healers can tell them what's up with Spike. In their cryptic way, they seem to confirm Buffy's belief that Spike was the intended recipient of the Shanshu Prophecy…until she messed things up. But the only ones to know for sure are The Powers That Be and they're not talking. So Buffy's feeling pretty guilty. Until she spots Spike and Nareetha getting a little too flirty, making her a jealous woman with a mission.

So Buffy stakes her claim on Spike (figuratively speaking). Then they hash out even more stuff and it _finally_ seems like they're getting somewhere. Until Buffy decides to ditch Spike and Angel and hunt down The Powers That Be to bargain for Spike's hijacked humanity. That's when she finds a trio of conduits serving as representatives for the TPTB—conduits who just happen to look a whole lot like Giles, Illyria and Joyce.

Spike shows up just as Buffy's about to make the Big Gesture. They argue some more, until she makes it clear she's done baking and Spike is "The One" who gets to take her out of the oven. The conduits, however, beg to differ as Not-Giles informs them that Angel, not Spike, is her true destiny…

* * *

CHAPTER 24

Inwardly seething but holding himself in check, Spike watched as a grim-faced Buffy stepped forward, her voice slicing through the fog like a finely honed sword.

"Guess again, Jeeves."

Not-Giles regarded her with raised brows as the swirling fog ebbed and flowed between them. It cast an eerie pink glow that made it difficult for Spike to gauge his expression. "I beg your pardon?"

"You can beg all you like, but you're wasting your breath. Angel's _not_ my destiny."

"Too bloody right he's not. She's made her choice and isn't your Golden Boy," Spike growled, taking a stance at Buffy's side. If the sodding Powers That Wanked thought they could tell him to jump and he'd ask "How high?" they were delusional. If they thought they could take Buffy from him now that he understood how she really felt, they were suicidal.

"It is written," Not-Illyria stated, her tone unyielding. "You do not choose."

Buffy shrugged. "I don't care if it's spray-painted on the backside of the Head Powers That Be, himself. Or herself. Whatever. If Spike's destiny can be unwritten, so can mine. Ergo…sorry, not happening."

Engulfed by a wave of lusty admiration, Spike dropped the Evil Eye he'd aimed at Not-Rupert, gazing instead at Buffy. "God I love it when you're all, 'Up Yours.'"

Their eyes met, locking in silent communion. Not-Giles cleared his throat.

"I fear you fail to comprehend the full gravity of the situation."

At first, Spike thought she would ignore him. But after a few beats, Buffy smiled and turned.

"I comprehend just fine. You're the one who's a few fries short of a Happy Meal if you think I'm leaving Spike to go back to Angel. Yes, I loved him. But that ship sailed a long time ago."

A fierce thrill ran through Spike. It barely had time to register before he found Buffy facing him again.

"Spike, I get that you just made your big Declaration of Independent Destiny and all, but…I have to be sure. You really don't want this prophecy?"

It was an earnest question. It deserved an honest answer. Fortunately, he had one.

"I meant what I said, love. Had a lot of time to think these last few weeks." He shrugged. "Maybe too much. But I finally got it straight in my head. I don't want to be Prophecy Boy. Don't fancy anyone, least of all that lot, pullin' my strings." He stared into her eyes. "That said, I _would_ do it…for you. If it's what you wanted. And I'd be happy with it, knowing that. But not for them. And not for me. 'Cause it's not what I want anymore."

Buffy inched closer, invading his personal space, and Spike was more than happy to let her. She raised her hand, fingers brushing his cheek.

"Then it's not what I want either."

Before he could respond, she whirled to face the three conduits again. With an "oh well" gesture, she shrugged. "Okay. Kind of thinking this whole thing has been a big waste of time and energy. Emphasis on the big. Sorry. Bad, Buffy!" she chided herself. "As for the other, we'll just agree to disagree, okay? Now all you have to do is send us home so we can get back to our thing, and you can get back to your thing, and we'll all just…do our things."

Not-Giles regarded her dispassionately. "Yes, well…as much as I regret to say it, that's simply not possible."

Buffy frowned. "It's really scary how much you sound like Giles. And it's insulting that you expect us to believe that."

Not-Illyria stepped forward. "You suffer an inability to understand. It has never been a matter of 'can not.' Only a matter of 'will not.' You treat your destiny with contempt. You view it as a hollow reed that can be bent or broken to your will. We refuse to help you reject your path." She cocked her head, alien eyes fixed on Buffy. "You will be returned. The vampire will remain here, in this place."

Buffy's mouth dropped open. It didn't really surprise Spike. He'd already seen the proverbial handwriting on the wall. She, however, was clearly shocked.

"You can't do that!" she protested.

"We can. And will." Not-Illyria countered, voice and face devoid of all emotion.

Buffy's eyes narrowed, and Spike watched as her expression went from stunned to determined. She faced them with folded arms, the air around her practically quivering with iron-willed defiance. "Fine. You want to play hardball, so can I. If you're sending me back without Spike, then you've lost your Slayer. As of now, I'm officially retired."

Not-Giles raised an eyebrow. "That would have been an effective threat, perhaps, when only one of you existed. But now, there are thousands."

Spike snorted, feeling compelled to state the obvious, even though he didn't hold out much hope. "That may be, but the next time the big apocalypse looms, who do you want taking care of business? _Some_ slayers? Or _The_ Slayer?"

Spike fancied he saw a slight flicker of something in the other's eyes, but his expression remained predictably detached.

"And while we're on the subject," Buffy interjected, "you might have noticed you're not exactly crawling with Champions. So why would you want to sideline one of your biggest? It's stupid you're even thinking about this. You _need_ Spike! He's important—not just to me, but to you. You had big plans for him, remember?"

"That was true before," Not-Giles acknowledged. "But no longer. The vampire has removed himself from the equation. And your stubbornness has left us with no other choice."

Spike sighed, chin dropping to his chest. Then he reached out, taking hold of Buffy's arm as he gently turned her to face him. "Buffy…love…maybe you should—"

"No!" She responded instantly, fierce tone mirroring her expression. "I left you to die before. Don't _ever_ expect me to do that again!"

Her sudden vehemence caught him off guard. Spike squinted at her. "Is that what this is? You feeling all guilty? Don't be daft, love."

He instantly realized it was the wrong thing to say. Her expression turned even more thunderous.

"It's not daft! It's totally un-daft! In fact, it's _so_ un-dafty it couldn't possibly get any un-daftier or it would just be a whole new level of un-daftiness!"

Her tone soothing, Not-Joyce spoke up. "Buffy…sweetheart, you—"

"Don't!" Spitting out the word, Buffy rounded on her. Up until then, Spike had watched his slayer go out of her way to ignore her mother's doppelganger. But now she glared daggers at her. "Don't you wear her face and call me that. You're not allowed."

Not-Joyce nodded, acknowledging the order with a sad smile. "Understood. But it's not that simple. There are things you don't know. Things we can't tell you. You're the Chosen One, and there are great forces at work in your life."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Really. Gee, never would have guessed."

"That's enough, young lady." Not-Joyce eyed her with a stern expression. "I know it's difficult, but sarcasm won't help." Then she sighed, her expression softening. "The point is, this is something you can't escape. It's your calling. You _are_ The Slayer. You will be for as long as you live. You may try to deny it, but we know you'll never be able to turn your back on it. You'll never look the other way and pretend evil doesn't exist and that demons live only in nightmares. Not because of your destiny, but because of who you are. It simply isn't in you."

She raised a hand, heading off Buffy's response. "I know you've run away before. I also know you've wanted to give up—to let others take over where you left off. But you came back. And you didn't give up. And you won't. Ever."

Buffy opened her mouth then stopped. Spike watched as her expression turned sulky. "You can't be sure of that."

"Yes, she can," he interjected softly. "Face it love, the lady may not be your mum, but she's got your number."

Several seconds ticked by. Buffy bowed her head, taking an intense interest in the fog that swirled around her feet. When she finally looked up, she'd clearly reached a decision.

"I'm not leaving here without you."

"Appreciate the sentiment, love, but it's not like they're giving us a choice."

"There's always a choice. You taught me that."

Spike sighed. Even though she sounded confident, something in her expression told a different story. It was time for him to take the bull by the horns. Or the slayer by the shoulders. He gazed down into her face as she stood there, waiting.

"Buffy…we're together now, yeah?"

"Yep," she agreed.

"Equal partners, right?"

Her response was a bit slower this time, and slightly wary. "Right."

"With equal say."

"Spike—"

He gripped her shoulders tighter, silencing her protest. "Either we are, or we aren't," he insisted. "Which is it?"

She eyed him with narrowed gaze, lips pressed together in a tight line. "Don't think I don't know where you're going with this. It's my life, Spike!"

"Yes, it is. But it's not your choice alone anymore. It's ours. You made it that way when you made us a couple. That gives me a say, too."

Buffy stared. Then made a face. "I don't like this equality thing. Can't we just go back to the way it was before?"

He answered with a quirked eyebrow.

More seconds dragged by as they stood there, seemingly at an impasse. Then, clearly frustrated, she shook her head. "Spike, I know what you want me to do. But think about how you would feel if it were the other way around. Could you leave me?"

And there it was—the thing he'd dreaded. A simple truth he couldn't argue his way around. She knew it, too. She even had the nerve to gloat a little, albeit silently,

Just as silently, he conceded defeat. "Then what's the plan, love?"

She smiled. Then frowned. "Wait…there's supposed to be a plan?" Then grinned. "Kidding. Of course there's a plan."

She kept her gaze on Spike but raised her voice to address the others. "We demand trial by combat!"

Even if he'd wanted to—and he buggering well did not—Spike couldn't suppress the huge smirk that spread across his face. God, how he loved her. They were two halves of a bloody whole.

Not-Joyce, however, didn't look as thrilled. "Oh, dear…" She shook her head.

Not-Giles frowned. "Out of the question."

"Why?" Buffy challenged, planting hands on hips.

"Because the decision is made. There is no appeal."

"Oh, please! There's always a trial or quest or _something_ the heroes can undertake. Don't you people ever watch the movies?"

"Clearly not. And, clearly, you are mistaken."

"Actually, that's not completely true. There is a precedent." Not-Joyce shrugged when Not-Giles turned his head to glare at her. "You know it as well as I do. And I don't think _They_ would appreciate it, if we went around changing the rules just because it's more convenient."

She turned to address Buffy. "What did you have in mind, honey?"

Spike nodded encouragingly as Buffy shot him a quick glance. She shrugged. "I don't know. Something big, mean and ugly? I mean, we'd be more than happy to fight bunny rabbits, if you like, but shouldn't you guys be the ones deciding that? Seems like if we're going to do this, you might as well get your money's worth."

Not-Illyria stepped forward. "As you will."

The fog in front of Spike rippled, as if a stone had been tossed into a pond, then solidified into a gleaming sword suspended in mid-air, its hilt only a few inches away from his hand. A darting sideways glance showed him Buffy eying an identical weapon that had materialized in front of her.

Before they could react, a strange whistling sound came out of nowhere, low at first but rapidly growing in intensity. It transformed into a full-throated howl as gale-force winds blew up around them. Amidst the wildly swirling fog, Spike and Buffy latched on to each other, bracing themselves against the tempest as it threatened to knock them off their feet.

At the center of the maelstrom stood Not-Illyria, motionless except for blue strands of hair whipping across her face. The twin swords were also unaffected, remaining fixed in the air, as if embedded inside invisible concrete.

Buffy shouted something, but the words were swept away. When Spike shook his head, she let go of his arm long enough to point at the swords. This time he nodded. Locking arms, they bowed their heads against the wind and struggled in tandem to reach the suspended weapons.

A journey of mere inches seemed to take hours, yet Spike realized no more than a few seconds could have passed before their hands wrapped around the twin hilts. The instant they made contact, the winds died away. An eerie silence fell.

Spike tugged on the sword, expecting resistance, but there was none. The weapon moved easily, as if sliding smoothly from its invisible sheath.

As if on cue, a massive roar sounded. It reverberated around them, through them, like echoes bouncing off unseen walls.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Spike demanded, his gaze darting to and fro but unable to penetrate the dense walls of pink fog closing in around them. Mirroring Buffy's move, he raised his sword in readiness.

The voice of Not-Illyria sliced through the mist. "It is The Beast That Walks Between Worlds. A thing feared by all dimensions. Cities quake at its approach. Nations reek with the rancid stench of despair. The very mention of its name leaves entire universes trembling in abject terror, crushed beneath the weight of utter hopelessness."

A second roar sounded and Spike drew in a steadying breath. "Yeah. So in other words…_not_ a bunny rabbit."

* * *

TBC in Chapter Twenty-Five


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note:** Here's the latest installment of Marking Time, hot off the keyboard (the last bit anyway). Don't faint or anything, but that's two chapters in one month! ::gasp::

Decided to go without sleep to get the silly thing finished. Now there's only one more chapter to go! Yay! ::gearing up for the Snoopy Dance::

The final chapter is halfway written. With luck, I hope to finish it up over the holiday weekend and get it posted early next week. ::fingers, toes, legs, arms and eyes crossed. oh, wait. that's giving me a headache::

If it's been a while and you need help remembering what's happened in previous chapters, you can find a lengthy recap at the start of Chapter 24.

Hope you enjoy! I'm off to bed…_soooo_ sleepy…

* * *

CHAPTER 25

Spike squinted into the mist as another massive roar filled the air. Multiple echoes made it seem as if he and Buffy were surrounded by a dozen or more unseen beasts.

"Definitely no bunnies here," Not-Joyce confirmed. "Sorry."

Spike snorted. At least she had the decency to look concerned. It was more than he could say for the other two.

This time, the roar approached deafening decibel levels. As it died down, Spike heard Buffy sigh. "Remind me what genius asked for big, mean and ugly? Oh, yeah. Me."

"It isn't too late to change your mind," Not-Giles pointed out.

"I will if you will," Buffy countered. Head cocked expectantly, she waited a beat. "No? Oh, well. Too bad. Guess we have to kill it then."

Buffy shot him a look, and Spike nodded. As she pivoted away from him, he mirrored the move, easily falling into his third-favorite position with her. Back-to-back, they waited—swords at the ready, Spike's vampire senses on high alert.

Then the tremors started, causing the void's smooth ground surface to vibrate beneath their feet. Spike assumed it was a manufactured earthquake brought on by the watching conduits until he detected a rhythmic pattern to the shaking. Like steps…_heavy_ steps…heralding the as-yet invisible approach of a lumbering juggernaut.

Tightening his grip on the sword, he scanned the area within his line of sight—looking left, looking right, even glancing upward as another unearthly bellow tore through the air above their heads.

Once…twice…three times his gaze skimmed over the Not-trio, touching briefly on them with each pass. The fog partially obscured their faces, but not enough to hide their near-identical expressions of avid interest.

On the fourth pass, it hit him. Straightening, he lowered his sword.

"Sod this. We're not playing your game."

Buffy twisted around with a questioning head tilt. But she remained silent, letting him take the lead.

Not-Giles raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"You heard me." With his best defiant sneer, Spike raised his voice—the better to be heard over the cacophonous roaring of the beast. "I said no. We're not fighting your beastie. We're not fighting anything you send our way." He quirked an eyebrow at Buffy. "Right?"

They shared a long look as the slight crinkling of her forehead eased. She smiled, a determined glint sparking in her eyes. "Right."

Spike smirked, hooking his free thumb through a belt loop as he turned back to the trio and cocked his head. "So here's the thing. We're not dancing your little jig anymore. You'll have to get your jollies some other way." Head up, shoulders back, he tossed his sword down, regarding them with narrowed gaze. "As I reckon it, that leaves you two choices—lose the two best fighters you've got or send us back home."

Following suit, Buffy tossed away her own sword with a wry smile. "Yeah. Pretty much what he said."

Not-Illyria responded with ill-concealed scorn. "You make a fool's choice. The Beast grants no mercy. You will both die."

A volley of snarls and bellows followed hard on her words. As it died down, Spike shrugged. "Then we die. But it's our sodding choice to make, and if we go out, we go out on our own bloody terms. Not yours. And not Theirs."

The ground around them started to shake harder than before, the tremors growing in intensity with each passing second. The two factions stared at each other, waiting.

Then Not-Joyce looked at her companions. "You know, I hate to say it…"

"Then don't," Not-Giles snapped.

"_But_…" She eyed him with a stern glare. "…they're not wrong. There's a lot at stake here."

"She is the one who demanded ritual combat," Not-Giles pointed out, his tone more than a little aggrieved. "I don't see why—"

A fresh round of thundering bellows interrupted him, drowning out the rest as they were bombarded from all directions.

When it finally ended, Buffy shrugged. "Changed my mind. Guess I'm just not in the mood to play anymore."

Not-Giles shot her a peeved look. "Do you truly expect us to believe you'll stand there and let yourselves be ripped to shreds?"

Buffy pursed her lips, as if considering the question. "Way I figure it, we're both kind of past our expiration dates and living on borrowed time anyway. Plus maybe you were busy and missed this part, but I wouldn't take orders from a bunch of stuffy old men in tweed suits either. It's kind of a thing."

"You're bluffing," he accused.

Spike raised an eyebrow. "Reckon we'll find out."

"Yes," Not-Giles acknowledged coldly. "We will."

An impasse had been reached, with neither side willing to blink. In the meantime, the increasingly strong ground tremors made it hard for Spike to maintain his balance, though the conduits themselves seemed maddeningly unaffected. And the ear-splitting roars were starting to set his teeth on edge. Spike felt his forced calm rapidly deteriorating.

It disappeared entirely as he glimpsed movement off to his left. The shape was indistinct but unbelievably massive. Even worse, he couldn't tell how far away it was, which meant it could get even larger. Clamping his hand around Buffy's arm, he jerked his head in that direction and watched as she followed the prompt. Her eyes widened.

Another trumpeting roar sounded…then ended abruptly, as if someone had pushed the "off" switch. At the same instant, the ground quakes ceased, and when Spike looked again, the mammoth shape had vanished.

"Well, I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous." Spike followed the voice back to an exasperated Not-Joyce, who stood facing off against her companions' accusing glares. "You know they're right. We can't afford to lose them, especially with you-know-what coming up. Which means all of this is just a big waste of time. You know how stubborn they both are. And even if they decide to fight, it won't change anything, no matter what the outcome is. If they win, they get what they want and we lose. If they die, we still lose.

"Bottom line is, it's already too late. The prophecy has been altered and their destiny is…undetermined…at this point in time." She shot them a glance, and Spike was sure he detected an amused twinkle in her eyes. "In fact, something tells me it may well remain that way. All we can do for the moment is send them back and see what happens."

"Destiny is not perpetually fluid," Not-Illyria objected. "It has already been rewritten."

"Yes, and I'm quite certain they'll find a way to bollocks up that, as well," Not-Giles added with a withering glare.

"Either way," Not-Joyce said, "we've reached a dead end. I've sent the beast packing and it's time to do the same for these two. So which one of you would like to do the honors?"

For several seconds, no one moved. Then, with a steely glare, Not-Illyria stepped forward. At the wave of an imperious hand, a door-sized portal winked into existence, a maelstrom of bright light pulsing and churning a few feet away from Spike and Buffy.

A bemused Spike regarded it with tilted head. "Got to say…seems a bit anticlimactic."

His tone sharp with hard-edged sarcasm, Not-Giles gave them a sour look. "And what was it you expected, precisely? A brass band and the Queen's Guard as escort? So terribly sorry to disappoint. Now leave. And do try not to let the portal hit you on the way out."

With a final disdainful glare, he turned on his heel and strode away, vanishing into the fog. Not-Illyria regarded them coldly for a moment then followed.

Buffy looked up at Spike. "I don't think they like us much," she confided.

He gazed down at her. "Don't rightly care much," he said softly, a slow smile curving his lips.

"Oh, don't mind them," a cheerful Not-Joyce said, waving her hand dismissively. "They're both sticklers for tradition and they get a little snippy if the rules are bent. But they'll get over it. I happen to know there's a pretty nasty apocalypse looming in the not-too-distant future. They'll be happy enough then to have you back where you belong."

She looked around. "Well, my work here is done. And for that matter, so is yours. Go on…off with you now." She smiled, making shooing motions with her hands. "You've got some very worried friends and family waiting for you." Glancing over her shoulder she rolled her eyes. "And I've got some not-so-happy associates waiting for me. Don't suppose you'd like to trade places?"

When Spike and Buffy merely stared at her, she laughed. "That's what I thought. Oh, well. Worth a try. Listen…do me a favor and try not to piss off the higher powers for a while, okay? There is a limit to what I can do." Studying a silent Buffy, she softened her voice. "I know this is hard for you, honey. But know that she's okay. And she's very, very proud of you."

With that, she turned and retreated, pausing briefly to give them a final look. Then, with a smile and a wink, she faded into the mist.

A pang shot through Spike as he watched Buffy brush away a tear.

"Buffy…"

"I'm okay. It's okay. Really." Drawing in a deep breath, she released it slowly, pressing the heels of her hands hard against her eyes.

Spike didn't say anything. Just rubbed her back gently as he waited.

Eventually, she looked up. "Hey!" There was a forced brightness to her tone. "We just thumbed our noses at those Powers That Whatever and didn't get struck down. What do you think that means?"

Spike snorted softly. "Means they need us, just like she said. Also means there's a higher power at work here than even those tossers, and they know it."

She stared at him.

"What?" He stared back.

"You mean like…" She trailed off, but he knew what she'd started to say.

"Yeah, I mean exactly like. There a problem with that?"

"No! I just…I guess I never thought vampires would believe in that sort of thing. You know…religion, I mean. Though I should have realized. With the soul and all."

"Got nothing to do with the soul, love. Believed, even when I didn't have it. Crosses, holy water…it's a bit hard to dismiss the obvious when it's burning a hole right through you."

Buffy eyed him with furrowed brow. "You always keep me off balance. I hate that about you."

"No, you love that about me." Spike smiled, his voice soft. He couldn't believe how natural it felt to say that. "Go on. Admit it. Keeps you on your toes."

She pulled a grumpy face. "Yeah. Okay. Maybe. But it's still annoying."

"My middle name, love."

She looked at him, head cocked. "Really? So that would be William The Bloody Annoying…and what was that last name again?"

"Oh, would you look at that," Spike said quickly, craning his neck in the direction of the portal. "Think the bloody thing just faded a bit. Best we get along now before it's too late."

Buffy's lips quirked in a half smirk. "All right, we can table this for later. But you are so not getting out of it." She cocked her head. "Speaking of getting out of something…you _were_ bluffing, weren't you? About the whole no-fighty and then-we-die stuff?"

"Bloody right." He nodded. "You?"

"_Oh_, yeah."

Smiling, she reached out and took his hand, fingers locking with his—just like the last time they'd gone through a portal together. His own hand tightened around hers and he could tell she knew what he was thinking.

"Don't worry. No tricks this time," she promised. "No side trips, no detours. It's time to go home."

He smiled at her and she smiled back. Then, suiting action to words, they moved in tandem toward the portal, diving into it side-by-side. Their transit through the void proved to be as chaotic and disorienting as ever, but this time there was no last-minute separation.

Instead, they exited the other side together, with a whoosh and a thud and a clanging, clattering crash.

Sitting up, Spike looked around, realizing they'd landed in what must have been Giles' kitchen. He knew this because he and Buffy had obviously taken out a large pot rack on their way to the floor and were now surrounded by a dozen or more slightly battered pots and pans.

He also knew this because Dawn, eyes wide and mouth agape, was standing just a few feet away, a plate with a half-eaten sandwich dangling from her hand. An instant later she squeaked and dropped the plate, launching herself at Buffy and hugging her breathless as she started to babble.

"_Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh_…you're here! You're really, really here! I can't believe it! It's been so long, and I've missed you _soooo_ much! We all have! We—"

Breaking off, she pulled back, eyes even wider than before. "Oh, wait! I have to…you know…" She dove in for another hug, then jumped up and ran to the kitchen door. Sticking her head through the opening, she hollered at the top of her lungs.

"You guys! You guys, they're back! Hurry!"

Spike clambered to his feet, a bit less gracefully than he'd care to have anyone see. He started to reach for Buffy, but somehow wound up with an armful of still-babbling Dawn instead. His arms instinctively closed around her, holding her tight as his gaze locked with Buffy's.

Then the rest of the world came flooding into the kitchen.

* * *

TBC in Chapter Twenty-Six


	26. Chapter 26

**Author's Note:** Okay, the final chapter of Marking Time became two final chapters. Sorry about that. But the good news is that this time, the next one really will be the last. Really. Honest. Pinkie swear! It's done. Just tweaking a bit more. It won't get any longer. The story is truly finito! Yay!

So here's the next to the last. The real last chapter will be up tomorrow night, as long as I don't have to bring work home. If I do, look for it Tuesday.

As always, constructive criticism is definitely welcomed and please do point out any typos I may have missed.

Also? A recap of earlier chapters can be found at the beginning of Chapter 24. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

CHAPTER 26

"Look at her. All grown up, isn't she?"

Spoon halfway to her mouth, Buffy paused, following Spike's gaze across the room to where Dawn stood, flanked by Xander and Mrs. Hudson. She and Spike had arrived in the kitchen a few minutes ago to find Xander busy reinstalling the pot rack knocked askew when they'd plummeted through the portal. Now her sister, arms outstretched, was placing the last of the freshly washed pots and pans back on the rack.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Buffy made a face and frowned down into her bowl of leftover stew.

"Don't give her ideas. You wouldn't believe how many not-so-nice Italian boys I had to chase off our first few months in Rome." Then she lifted her gaze, studying his profile, head cocked. "So…from the warm greeting earlier, I take it you two are friends again?"

"You were gone three months, love." Spike shrugged, giving her a faint smile, but looked self-conscious. "Had some time to talk. Worked out a few things."

"That much is obvious. Care to share?"

"Uh-uh, Miss Nosey Slayer-Pants." Dawn's cheerful voice sounded almost in her ear, causing Buffy to jump. "That's what we call privileged information."

Her sister might be a little older, but she hadn't outgrown her annoying talent for sneaking up on people.

"That means it's only between Spike and me. All you need to know is that we've reached a point of mutual accord. After I reamed him out for letting you pull that stupid stunt of yours, of course."

She gave them a mock glare. "I still can't believe he didn't guess what you were up to. Hello! Exactly what he would've done in your place! But," she added, dismissing it with the airy wave of a hand, "we're past all that now. Just like we're past the…you know…other."

When Buffy raised a questioning brow, Dawn shot a quick glance over her shoulder to where Xander stood teasing Mrs. Hudson. She turned back, her expression and lowered voice growing serious.

"What Spike did…everything that happened between you guys…it took me some time to understand. To be honest, I'm still not sure I do. There's a lot Spike wouldn't tell me, and you've never talked about it. But for the record, I don't hate him anymore. And if that's why he stayed away…"

"Already told you, Bit. It wasn't. Promise you that. Besides," he added, quirking an amused eyebrow at her, "when have you ever known me to let someone's bad opinion put me off? Just needed to be somewhere else for a while, is all."

Taking a deep breath, Dawn studied him with large eyes. "But you don't anymore, right?" she asked, glancing sideways at Buffy. "Now you need to be here with us?"

Buffy thought she caught a flicker of something deep and very powerful in Spike's gaze. But an instant later it was gone, replaced by his familiar smirk. "For as long as you'll have me, pet," he said, then turned his piercing gaze on Buffy. "Maybe longer even."

A brilliant grin spread across Dawn's face. She winked. "Oooh, better be careful. Sounds all solemn oath-ey to me. Not the kind of thing you can take back without _dire_ consequences."

"No taking back intended."

"Good," Buffy said, setting the bowl of stew on the counter and looping her arm through his. "Because I'm not ready for you not to be here." She bit back a smile as she saw the spark of recognition flare in his eyes and reached up to pull his head down, brushing her lips softly against his. "I'll never be ready for you not to be here," she whispered. Then kissed him hard—plundering, possessing and publicly staking her claim.

By the time she surfaced for air, she and Spike were the center of attention in the room. Mrs. Hudson beamed at them, Dawn rolled her eyes and Xander shook his head. But she saw an amused gleam in his eye that Buffy would never have expected under those circumstances.

That was when it really hit home, just how long she'd been gone. Long enough for a drastic change in attitude towards Spike. Or more accurately…Spike with Buffy.

Not that she'd noticed it right away. After they'd first crash-landed in the kitchen, things had been far too chaotic. Her friends, all talking at once, swarmed into the room, catching her up in a big group hug. Sandwiched between Willow, Xander and Andrew, she'd only caught a phrase here and there, but it was enough to get the general gist. Once again, Buffy Summers, prodigal slayer, was returned to the bosom of her extended family, forgiven for the rash actions that had caused them months of work and worry.

Eventually emerging from the tangle, she was tackled again by Dawn. Then Giles swept her into a bone-crushing embrace as she returned the bear hug, her cheek pressed tightly against his chest.

That's when she'd seen it, out of the corner of one eye. A brief clap on the back from Xander. A faint smirk and answering nod from Spike. Then the big light bulb-over-the-head moment as Willow gave Spike a wide, beaming grin, followed by a quick hug that seemed awkward, yet heartfelt.

The biggest surprise, however, came when they moved from the kitchen to Giles' book-lined study. After sinking into one of the overstuffed chairs, Buffy shared a somewhat edited account of their time in the void. At one point, Giles made an observation and Spike responded with something typically snarky.

Instead of shooting him a withering glare, Giles actually laughed.

Buffy blinked. Twice. Soon after, when Giles turned away to talk to Xander and Willow, she rose and sidled up to Spike. "So…" She kept her voice low. "…am I hallucinating here, or have you and Giles suddenly become bestest buds?"

She glanced over at her watcher just in time to see him exchanging a few whispered words with Willow, who gave a quick nod and slipped out of the room.

Spike snorted softly. "Not bloody likely," he countered then shrugged. "Suppose you could say we've reached an understanding. He doesn't expect me to nursemaid the baby slayers, and I don't take liberties with his primo stash of Midleton…much."

Buffy might have pursued it, but at that moment Xander asked a question about Faith, which took the conversation in a different direction.

"Faith insisted on being here to await your return," Giles related. "With brief absences upon occasion, necessitated by certain…situations. Nothing too terribly serious until recently." He paused to remove his glasses.

"Something big, eh?" Spike tilted his head. "That why Blue and Angel are conspicuously not here?"

Buffy tried not to look interested in the answer. She'd noticed their absence but didn't want to ask. Though she and Spike had made a lot of progress, she wasn't foolish enough to think all of their…baggage, for lack of a better word…had been unpacked and put away for good. The last thing they needed was Spike's Angel-related insecurities re-surfacing while they were still finding their way.

Giles inclined his head. "Indeed. Reports began filtering in regarding an awakening hellmouth located in Houston. We've always been aware of its existence, though it has apparently been dormant since well before The Colonies were settled. As such, it's been of little concern to us. Until a rogue warlock with delusions of world dominance decided to use it to raise a _Gil 'brahala_ demon."

"Let me guess," Buffy said. "A big nasty?"

"An extremely big nasty."

Leaning forward, Xander grimaced. "Think a cross between The Terminator and Godzilla and you'd be somewhere in the neighborhood."

"Ouch." Buffy frowned. "So shouldn't we be hopping a plane to Texas?"

Giles shook his head. "Fortunately, the crisis has been averted. Between Faith's slaying skills, Illyria's strength and Angel's connections and experience, the three make a fairly formidable team."

"The battle was epic," Andrew gushed. "Like Gandalf triumphing over the Balrog, sending the beast hurtling into the fiery pits of hell. Only…you know…they didn't go with it. I think they went and had a pizza instead." He looked around as if checking for eavesdroppers then lowered his voice conspiratorially. "They're currently in mop-up mode, according to the latest report from my trusty field operative."

"Said 'operative' being Robin Wood," Xander added dryly.

Just then the door opened and Willow re-entered the room, apparently in time to hear the last. "Funny you should mention him," she said. "I just got off the phone with our favorite former principal. I told him the good news. He said he'd get word to Faith and Angel, but it could take a while to hear back."

Down the hall, the phone rang.

"Or not." She shrugged.

Soon after, Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway and nodded at Buffy. "There's a call for you, dearie." When Buffy hesitated, Mrs. Hudson looked at her questioningly. "Should I be taking a message for you then?"

Buffy glanced at Spike, who met her gaze but didn't say anything. She turned back to Mrs. Hudson. "No, that's okay. I'll take it. Thanks."

Buffy followed her to a nearby alcove, picking up the receiver as the other woman disappeared down the hallway. "Hello?"

"Are you okay?" It was Angel, of course.

"Never better. You?"

"Yeah. I'm good, too." There was an awkward pause. "Stopped an apocalypse. Well, sort of a mini-apocalypse…or maybe…I guess you could say it was a wanna-be apocalypse. More like an apoca-lite. But there was magic and…a big demon. Really big. Nasty. And there was a while there when it looked like it _could_ turn apocalyptic at any time."

"Angel?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you really okay?"

A long beat of silence answered her. Then the damn broke.

"Ah hell, Buffy, did it have to be _Spike_, of all people?" He sounded resigned but also a little forlorn.

Buffy glanced down, her hand tightening around the receiver. "Really did. I'm sorry, Angel."

"Yeah." She heard him sigh and envisioned the slight nod that went with it. "I know."

He asked her about what happened in the void, and she respected the change in subject, sharing the same edited account she'd given the others. At the end, she hesitated, biting her lip.

"Angel…it may not have seemed like it, but please know that I really am happy for you. The being human and all. You totally deserve it."

"Right. Happy for me. I kind of hoped you'd be happy _with_ me," he said, his tone turning a bit wistful. "But I know it's not going to happen. I think I knew back in Sunnydale when you took the amulet and told me I couldn't stay. We talked about someday, but I guess we were really saying goodbye."

After a moment, he snorted softly. "At least I know Spike will always have your back. And don't tell him I said this, okay? But you could do worse. At least it wasn't that Finn guy."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Angel…" But a familiar tingle distracted her from what she'd started to say.

Turning, she spotted Spike leaning against the wall a few feet away, thumbs hooked over his belt as he watched and listened. She studied him, trying to decipher his expression until Angel's voice called her back to the conversation.

"Look, Buffy…Have you…uh…have you talked to Giles?"

"Many times. Why?"

"I mean since you got back."

Spike's frown no doubt mirrored her own puzzled expression.

"Yes. Again with the why?"

"It's just that there's something you and Spike should know, and it doesn't sound like you do. Not that it makes much difference now, I guess, but…"

Buffy waited. "But what?" she finally prompted, locking gazes with Spike, who also waited, head tilted.

But whatever it was Angel had wanted to tell her, he'd clearly changed his mind. "Just talk to Giles," was all he said.

And that's where the conversation basically ended. He turned the phone over to Faith, who first ragged on Buffy about going AWOL before segueing into a colorful recounting of how she, Angel and Illyria had taken down the warlock and his beast. When Buffy finally hung up, she stared at Spike.

"You heard what Angel said?"

He nodded.

"So what do you think that's about?"

"Dunno. Reckon we'd best do as he says and have a talk with Rupert."

Just then Buffy's stomach growled. Loudly.

"Okay. But do you think we can swing by the kitchen on the way? If I've been gone as long as you and Giles said, that would make my last meal about seven months ago."

And that's how they'd ended up back in the kitchen, all eyes currently trained on them.

"What? I can kiss my boyfriend if I want to," Buffy defended, more than a little self-conscious.

"I think we're okay with you kissing Spike," Dawn said, "but do you have to keep demolishing the kitchen?"

Buffy followed her sister's gaze to the floor. At some point during the mini-makeout session with Spike, her bowl of stew was knocked off the counter. The contents had splattered across their legs and the cabinets behind them. Broken bits of blue-and-white ceramic were strewn around their feet.

"Oops. Sorry. My bad." Grimacing apologetically at Mrs. Hudson, she grabbed the nearest dishtowel and dropped to her knees.

"Don't be bothering yourself about that, dearie," Mrs. Hudson ordered, bustling over to confiscate the towel as she shooed Buffy away from the mess. "It's not the first that's been broken in this kitchen, and it's that certain I am it won't be the last. Kitty will take care of it. The child loves to feel useful. Now leave it be and go get yourselves cleaned up. I'll send another bowl up to your room directly."

Reluctantly, Buffy let herself be herded from the kitchen, followed by Spike, Dawn and Xander. But instead of heading upstairs, she exchanged a look with Spike.

"Um…we need to check with Giles," she told Xander and Dawn. "About something Angel mentioned. Is he still in the study?"

Xander nodded. "Last I saw. Anything we can help with? We were just heading over to Slayer Central to meet up with Willow and Andrew. They got called over just after you left. Something about a botched love spell one of the newbies was messing around with. But it can wait if you need us."

"No, that's okay." Buffy shook her head. "Just something we have to ask him. You go on. We'll catch up later."

Dawn eyed her suspiciously. "You know, I think there's a book of reverse spells I saw in Giles' study that might help. I'll tag along with Buffy and Spike then meet you over there."

Squinting at each of them in turn, Xander started to say something then seemed to think better of it. Instead he shook his head and with a silent wave headed off down the hall.

One look at Dawn's stubborn expression told Buffy they didn't have a prayer of ditching her. So she sighed and led the way to the study, where they found Giles seated behind his desk, head bent over a massive, ancient-looking book.

"Ah, there you are," he said, looking up and removing his glasses. "Everything is proceeding smoothly in Houston, I trust?"

"By all accounts," Buffy confirmed. Moving forward, she settled next to him, hip perched on the only uncluttered corner of his desk. Spike and Dawn hung back a bit, watching.

"So we were wondering…" Buffy paused, then decided to dive right in. "Okay, here's the deal. Angel says there's something you need to tell us. Since you haven't mentioned anything, we're here asking."

She caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes.

"I knew it!" Dawn crowed. "I so knew it!" She pumped her fist, dancing in place.

Sighing, Giles leaned back in his chair. "I'm somewhat surprised he mentioned it. He hardly seemed to give it credence at the time. But perhaps he's since reconsidered. I wonder—"

Buffy held up a hand. "Giles, you know I love you and not to be rude or anything, but I'm really tired. Could we skip all the expositiony stuff and cut to the chase?"

"Of course. Sorry. I had planned to tell you. I was merely waiting for the appropriate moment. Which, apparently, would be now." Lowering his gaze, he cleared his throat. "It concerns the Shanshu Prophecy."

Spike made an irritated noise. Buffy shushed him. "Definitely listening."

Getting up, Giles moved around to lean against the front of his desk. "I was intrigued by what Angel and Spike told me when they returned. So, after you left to retrieve Buffy," he said, meeting Spike's gaze, "I took the liberty of comparing Wesley's translation of the prophecy to the text in its original form."

Spike stared at Giles, brow furrowed. "Original form. How the bloody hell did you manage that?"

"Ooh! I can answer that," Dawn piped up. "We had some help. After Angel told us about Wesley's translation, we popped over to Rome…Angel and me. Paid a little visit to the Italian branch of Wolfram and Hart. The woman in charge of the place seemed really happy to help out. Normally, she couldn't have given us a copy since her bosses are pretty mad at Angel right now. But since the Shanshu Prophecy doesn't matter anymore she said it wouldn't be a problem."

With a wicked grin, Dawn looked at Spike. "To tell you the truth, I think she has a soft spot for Angel. And she _really_ seems to have a thing for Spike. Kept going on and on about how handsome he is with the cheekbones, and the eyes and the…you know…_other_ stuff."

"Dawn…"

The warning note in Buffy's voice silenced Dawn but it didn't quite succeed in wiping the smirk off Spike's face. He did, however, purse his lips and widen his eyes in mock innocence as she aimed a suspicious glare at him.

"Yes, all quite fascinating," Giles observed, his tone dry. "However, as I was saying…it seems the prophecy has its roots in the ancient Proto-Bantu. According to Wesley, it basically stated that the vampire with a soul, after fulfilling his destiny, would become human. It's an extremely challenging text. It took some time, but I confirmed that Wesley's translation was actually quite brilliant. With one small but significant exception."

He paused, looking first at Buffy then Spike. "It seems his mistake was in translating one of the words as 'vampire.' The more accurate interpretation is the plural form of the word."

Pushing away from the desk, Giles moved to face Spike, looking him in the eye.

"Specifically, 'vampires'…" he said, stressing the "S" at the end.

Barely a beat passed before the full significance hit Buffy square in the face. She stood up. "Wait…you mean…"

Giles nodded. "Exactly. I mean…as in, more than one."

Buffy and Spike stared at each other. She could feel herself gaping and snapped her mouth shut.

Then Giles cleared his throat again. "But I'm afraid it doesn't end there. You see, there's something more. Something Angel doesn't know because I only discovered it after he left."

Buffy was almost afraid to ask. But she did. "What?"

Giles glanced first at Dawn, who seemed to be verging on a fit of the giggles, then back to Buffy and finally Spike.

"Another prophecy."

* * *

TBC in Chapter Twenty-Seven


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note:** It's been six years in the making, but it's finally done! Cue the Snoopy Dance! Heh. Many thanks to those of you who've patiently awaited sporadic updates and graciously left much-appreciated comments. Thanks also to those who have only recently discovered the story and offered your encouragement. All of you are what kept me going. I hope you find it worth the wait.

* * *

CHAPTER 27

A freshly showered Buffy leaned back against the headboard of her bed, vastly more comfortable now in red cotton pajama bottoms and a white tank top. Legs outstretched, arms and ankles crossed, she watched as a fully dressed Spike—insert Slayer pouty face—paced back and forth along the length of their bedroom.

"_Bloody hell! Bloody, buggering, sodding, damn-it-all-to-fucking hell!"_

She eyed him curiously. "So fess up. What bothers you more? That you shared the prophecy with Angel? Or that Giles found a whole new prophecy that's just about you? Well, you and me," she amended.

"What do you think?" he growled, tossing her a sour look. His pacing continued unabated.

She shrugged. "It's a tie?"

Instead of responding, he growled again, following it up with a particularly pithy string of swear words. Most of which Buffy didn't understand since they must have been drawn from some of the demon languages Spike knew. But she was pretty sure that if she did understand them, she'd be blushing profusely.

She gave him a minute or two then tried again. "Come on. Aren't you even curious about what it says?"

This time he halted to glare at her, and she held up her hands. "I know! It's the principle of the thing. I get that. But aren't you just a _teensy_ bit curious? It's one thing to say we're not going to buy into the whole destiny thing, but when there's actually a prophecy already written about you, to just pretend it doesn't exist feels like the opposite of genius.

"I mean, how are we supposed to know what _not_ to do if we don't know what they want us to do? Should we just spend the rest of our lives going, 'Oh, gee, I was going to do this, but I guess I better not just in case there's a prophecy I might be fulfilling.' Only, maybe that's what makes us fulfill the prophecy and we wind up doing exactly what they want us to do anyway. Then who'd get the last laugh?"

Spike was shaking his head before she even finished. "Not the point."

"No?" She tried not to smile. "Really kind of thought it was."

He narrowed his gaze, brows drawn together in a fierce frown as he jabbed a finger at her. "Don't get it, do you? They're trying to suck us back in. We give in, might as well bend over and let them have at it."

Then he was off once more, pacing to and fro as he waved an angry hand in the air. "Need to show them we're not going to play their games. If they want to make prophecies about us, can't bloody well stop them. But we sure as sodding hell don't have to buy into it. Don't have to take note." He halted, motioning in her direction. "Look at you. You and that prophecy about the first time you died. Did you really fancy knowing you were gonna snuff it?"

Cocking her head, she shrugged. "Not big with the warm and fuzzies, no. But what if it's not always bad? Dawn and Giles didn't look all gloomy-doomy about the new prophecy. In fact, Dawn seemed pretty pumped. What if it's something good? I mean…really, _really_ good. We could wind up missing out on it."

"Again. Not. The point," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"Then what if we find a happy medium?" she countered, pushing away from the pillows and rising to her knees. "We could pick and choose. Sometimes we could be Prophecy Couple and sometimes we could be Team Free Will. Our call, not theirs."

He glared at her. "Yeah? And what happens when we disagree on which way to go? Case in point."

"I don't know." Buffy shuffled over to the edge of the mattress. "I guess that's one of the things we'd have to figure out. Spike, we took a stand. I know it seems like we'd be backing down, but we didn't really think things through. If there's a prophecy that the world's going to end and I play some part in it, I want to know. If it helps me do the right thing, if it helps me save the world or even one person, it's worth it."

Spike squinted, long and hard. Thinking it over, or maybe just tired of arguing about it—Buffy couldn't tell. Then he closed the gap between them until his knees bumped the mattress, bringing them nose-to-nose as he invaded her space.

Piercing blue eyes searched hers. Pretty eyes. Gorgeous eyes.

"And if one of those prophecies said you had to dump me and be with Angel to save the world…what would you do?"

She'd missed those eyes so much. Not to mention the full lips, chiseled chest, strong arms and oh-so talented fingers. But most of all, she'd missed him—the whole package. And now he was here. Now he was hers.

Hard head and all.

"Buffy?"

Okay. Focus.

She summoned her frowny face. "Pretty sure I remember answering that question. Not to mention almost getting squished for my trouble by Godzilla's invisible cousin."

Full lips turned petulant. "Doesn't count. Saving the world was never mentioned in that particular scenario."

"Hello! Heavily implied!" She sighed, reaching up to cradle his face. "Spike…my answer still stands."

"So you say now." His gaze slid away from hers. "But what if you knew, in no uncertain terms, that's what it would take?"

Searching his face, Buffy wondered if it would always be this way. If deep inside there was some part of Spike that would never feel good enough. Never feel secure enough. A part that would always question the depth and duration of her love. She might have to spend the rest of her life convincing him.

Tugging his head closer she leaned in, dropping slow, feather-soft kisses on his forehead, his nose and finally his mouth. When she pulled back, she gave him the only answer she had.

"I'd find another way."

Then they were locked together, fast and hard—tongues teasing, teeth nipping, mouths ravaging in brazen abandon. She clung to him desperately, arms twining around his neck as their bodies melded together from chest to thigh. Desperate fingers tangled in his hair, wreaking havoc on the slicked-back strands.

Somewhere deep inside him, a low growl reverberated. A primal call, felt more than heard, it sent her eyelids fluttering shut and dark, delicious shivers racing down her spine. At the same time, a muscled thigh nudged its way between her legs, almost tipping her off balance. But strong hands steadied her. Gripped her backside. Pulled her into him. Made it clear exactly where this was heading.

As if there could have been any other choice.

She shuddered against him, crying out as he nipped the tender flesh beneath her ear. Then answered in kind, biting an earlobe before sucking and nibbling her way along the strong column of his neck. He groaned. She hummed. He growled. She gasped. Together, they created a symphony of raw sexual need.

When his mouth lingered in the hollow of her throat, she clutched at his arms, nails digging deep into rock-hard biceps. Her head fell back, the better to accommodate him as his relentless licking set every nerve ending in her body on fire.

Fighting against a tide of sheer sensation, a thought surfaced. With superhuman effort, Buffy forced out the words.

"So we're…good…with the prophecy…right? Find out…our options."

Spike's head lifted. Passion-glazed eyes regarded her beneath a quirked brow. "You really want to talk about this now?" he demanded hoarsely.

They stared at each other, the sound of ragged breathing breaking the silence. Then by unspoken consent, they dove back in.

Eventually, Buffy found herself stretched across the bed—head hanging off the edge as Spike's mouth lavishly worshipped at her breasts. Pajama-clad legs were locked around his waist, fiercely seeking the contact she craved. Along the way she'd lost the tank top and nearly her mind—only a last shred of lucidity allowed a persistent knocking sound to finally register.

Buffy let out a sharp hiss, tugging frantically at Spike's head as it traveled south, along with her pajama bottoms. Still caught up in a lust-induced haze, he resisted her efforts until a well-placed jab brought him to his senses.

"Bloody hell!" he yelped.

"_Shhhh!_" she hissed, slapping a hand over his mouth. then called out in what she hoped was a reasonably steady voice.

"Who is it?"

A few beats passed before a timid answer wafted through the closed door.

"It's…it's Kitty, miss. I've come with your stew."

* * *

Buffy licked the last bit of gravy from her spoon, dropping it into the bowl with a satisfied sigh. Turning her head she eyed Spike, stretched out beside her on the bed, and smiled.

"Her timing could have been better, but I've got to admit I was way hungrier than I realized." At his amused snort, she rolled her eyes, adding primly, "For _food_, I mean."

Shifting a bit, Buffy leaned across him to the bedside table, depositing the bowl next to a glass holding the last dregs of Spike's liquid lunch. Then she eased herself back against the headboard and rested her head on his shoulder.

"There's something else I've been wondering…about that whole prophecy-sharing thing with you and Angel. What happens now? I mean, you're not human, but maybe you're not as much of a vampire either. You can tolerate more sunlight. Maybe even work your way up to something that passes for a tan, as long as you don't get stupid. But what else has changed?"

He shrugged, sending her head bobbing up and down. "Got no bloody clue. Too busy trying to bring you back to do much thinking on it."

Shifting, Buffy lifted his arm, draping it around her shoulders as she snuggled closer. Her head tilted back, the better to bask in his heated gaze.

"So we figure it out as we go, huh?"

"Reckon so. Though now that we've got you back safe and sound, something tells me dear old Rupert may have a few tests already in the works."

Buffy snorted softly, lips curving in a wry smile. "Wouldn't surprise me. You going to humor him?"

"Expect so. Have to keep my girl's family happy, don't I?"

Her smile faded into something more serious. "No. You don't," she stated firmly. "You only do it if you want to, clear? You don't have to keep _anyone_ happy. Except for yours truly, of course. And just to give you fair warning, expect to be very busy in that area," she added, shooting him a wicked grin.

Spike grinned back. Then frowned, the lascivious gleam in his eye shifting into a hard glint.

"What?"

"Isn't over, is it? Dru. You. The soul. The amulet. The prophecy. And last but not bloody least, Puppet Boys for The Powers That Pull Our Strings. Something tells me I'm always gonna be tied to Angel. Doomed to spend bloody eternity sharing everything with the Great Git."

Buffy brightened. "Ooh, kinky!" Then leaning in, she gave him a long, slow kiss, at last pulling back to smirk up at him. "But naughty thoughts of threesomes aside, didn't we go over this already? Angel and I have a history, yes, and that's just what it is now…history. Maybe you'll share other things, maybe you won't. But as far as _this_ slayer goes? From this point on and forever after, one Buffy Anne Summers is exclusively yours.

"Sorry to disappoint," she teased. "I know how much you love being right."

His lips curved in a soft, sexy smile. "S'okay. Reckon I'll live." Then he sobered, his gaze turning intense as he gave her "the look," triggering a delicious tingle deep in the pit of her stomach. Ironically enough, it also stirred up a few latent doubts. Settling back against him, she bit her lip.

"On the other hand…are we crazy? Can we really make this work? I love you, but it's not like I have a great track record when it comes to relationships. And I know us. I'll do something, or you'll say something, and we'll be at each other's throats. Literally."

Spike stirred, shushing her. "It'll work, love. We'll make it work. Waited too long. Been through too much for it not to." He planted a light kiss on the top of her head, his voice low and soothing as his arm tightened around her. "I'm not Angel. I'm not Finn. And I'm not gonna leave, if that's what you're thinking. Yeah, we'll fight. And we'll shag. And we'll fight and then shag. Because that's what we do. That's who we are. I don't know about you, but I think it would be bloody boring any other way."

She thought it over as his hand rubbed gentle circles along her pajama-clad thigh. "So we're good, right?" she ventured at last. "I love you, you love me, we love each other and we both know it. And we can be together now. As in officially-a-couple together."

"Buffy…" Spike hesitated.

Suddenly still, she eyed him warily. "What Buffy? Buffy, what?"

"It's just that…"

He trailed off again. Something in his voice worried her enough to propel her up and off the bed. She glared down at him.

"No! Whatever it is, no! We just got everything settled!"

Rolling off the opposite side of the bed in a single fluid move, Spike came gracefully to his feet and looked at her apologetically. "Not everything, love. There's still Sunnydale."

She stared at him. "What are you talking about? Sunnydale is gone. Dead and buried."

"Yeah, but what happened there isn't." Circling the bed, he closed the gap between them, stopping just short of touching her. "Mistakes were made. The kind that leave scars. Need to get some things said before we can move forward."

Buffy's heart plummeted. She'd tried to tell him when he'd been in the coma. But it hadn't been an easy place to revisit, even though he'd been unconscious. It was even less so now that he stood facing her, a tangible reminder of that dark time when she'd almost lost herself.

Dropping her gaze, she focused on his chest. "When you were in the coma, I tried to let you know how sorry I was…for the way I treated you. For all those times I hurt you. I hoped that somehow you heard me. I _am_ sorry, Spike. I really am."

Buffy's head jerked up as he laughed harshly, her gaze drawn to his face. His eyes shone with a dangerous glint that looked like a mix of anger and disbelief.

"You're sorry," he echoed. "About how you treated me?" He shook his head. "Could have been a bit nicer sometimes, yeah, but you weren't wrong. Maybe in the how of it, but not in the why. What about the things I did to you? What about that night…in your bathroom? Never really talked about it, did we? After I came back. Not the way we should have. Never talked about where we stood, what we felt. Tried to go on like…" Trailing off, he looked around, reaching for the words. Gave up and sighed. "Tried to go on."

Buffy gazed up at him. "I thought you knew I forgave you. I mean, eventually." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded very small.

"Course I did, love." He rushed to reassure her. "Saw it in your eyes that night in the basement. Before the Bringers carted me off. But some things can't be washed away that easy."

Buffy hesitated, remembering what Angel had said about Spike and the Shanshu. That maybe his reasons for wanting it had run deeper than a simple need to win out over Angel. That perhaps he might have considered it a sign of redemption.

Her brow crinkled as she gazed at him intently. "Is _that_ the reason you stayed away? The real reason you didn't let me know you were alive? Because you've never forgiven yourself?"

She took his silence as an answer.

"But…you came back. You stayed. Even when Giles and the others didn't want you there."

"Needed me, didn't you? And it wasn't only you that brought me back there. The First had a hand in it. Was for you I stayed, though. And after that…was for me I stayed away."

She fell silent, thinking about all the things she might have said if they'd had this conversation at any point in the past. But so much had changed in such a short time. Well, short from her perspective.

After several moments passed, she sighed. "Okay, I get it. We're big with the forgiving each other but not so great on forgiving ourselves. Even if we kid ourselves into thinking we have. So what do we do about that?"

He ducked his head, examining the toe of his boot as if a scuffed-up Doc Marten could hold all the answers. "Don't rightly know. Never studied on it. Not really my style, dwellin' on things that can't be changed."

She took a deep breath. "What about things that can be? Like now." She moved closer. "Like us."

"Come again?" His head was still down. For some reason he wouldn't look at her.

"Spike." She glared at the top of his still-tousled head. "You heard me."

"Yeah. I just…" He trailed off again.

"Just what?" she coaxed.

Raising his head, he smiled in that rare, sweet way that never failed to get to her. "Just wanted to hear it again."

She fought the knowing smile that tugged at her lips, rolling her eyes at him instead.

"You mean…'us.' You wanted to hear 'us' again."

He nodded, the warm spark in his eye catching fire when Buffy placed her hand on his chest. Walking him slowly backwards, she didn't stop until his back hit the wall. She leaned in close, lifting her face to his. Spike closed what was left of the gap, bending down to meet her—their lips almost touching.

"Spike?" she whispered.

"Yeah?" he breathed.

"This whole thing we do? Making things harder than they have to be? Ends now. No more."

He pulled back to quirk an eyebrow at her. "Just like that?"

"Just like that."

He smiled. "Bossy little bint, aren't you?"

She drew his head back down, threading her fingers through his hair as she did her best to kiss him senseless. When she finally surfaced for air, she nodded. "And you love it." She kissed him again. "So…no more baggage, okay?"

"I like baggage," he pointed out, lips and hands working their magic until she almost forgot how to breathe.

She grabbed his head. "Bite me," she panted.

"Funny girl," he murmured, kissing her again.

"No…I mean it. Bite me." She tilted her head, exposing her throat as she tugged on his hair, coaxing him toward her neck.

She could feel the tense shudder that ran through his body. "Buffy…"

"It's okay. I trust you," she promised, then took unfair advantage, wriggling against him until his eyes almost crossed.

But instead of succumbing, Spike grasped her by the shoulders, holding her at arm's length

"Buffy…love…that's something else we need to talk about first."

She pouted. "Tired of talking. We're not good at it."

"All the more reason to try then," he countered.

"Spike…why can't you just…"

It was as close as she'd come to begging, but to no avail.

"Shhh…we'll figure it out, love," he soothed. "Later."

Then, with a dizzying swoop, it was _her_ back pressed against the wall with Spike leaning into her. Bowing his head, he nuzzled her cheek, kissing the bump on her nose ever so softly. To a weak-kneed Buffy it felt like the sexiest thing ever.

Or maybe a close second to the things his clever fingers were doing inside her pajama bottoms.

"Later," she echoed faintly, her head falling back against the wall with a soft thud.

Then his tongue replaced those fingers and she totally lost it—gasping and shuddering her way through sheer bliss. The sensations sent her heart skipping crazily, unleashing a raw deluge of emotion that was almost too much to bear.

The tremors gradually subsided, but Spike continued on, seemingly content to spend the rest of the night there. But Buffy had other ideas. Grabbing him by the collar, she hauled him to his feet, kissing him until the room seemed to spin around them.

"My turn," she ordered. Grasping his head with both hands, she directed his gaze toward the pile of pillows and rumpled bedding across the room. "Only…some place more comfy."

He nodded, his hands still gliding over her body.

"Wherever you want to start, pet. Not gonna stop till I've had my wicked way with you everywhere in every way. In the chair…" He kissed her forehead. "On the rug…" He kissed her chin. "In the bath…" He brushed a soft kiss across that ticklish place between her breasts. "And there's a nice, dark spot in the hallway…"

"Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up," she panted. "Less talk, more action."

Spike growled. Sweeping her up in his arms, he strode across the room, her pajama bottoms left behind in a lonely puddle on the floor. His steps faltered as Buffy's mouth fastened on his neck, biting down with sharp, determined teeth.

She managed to tear off his shirt just before they missed the bed.

* * *

FINIS


End file.
